Tremble
by Blueberrychills94
Summary: Whirlwind of passion. That's the only way he could put it. His virgin lips were dirtied by the filth of another's touch. His skin, once pale, grew pink upon the contact of a reprimanding hand. His legs, which used to quake in fear in Cato's presence now spread so easily at his command. He was owned, wholly and completely, and he did not mind one bit. Modern Day. BDSM.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello guys! Honestly, I'm kind of all over the place with stories I want to write and publish. The only one I'm able to keep at a constant it seems is Puppet Strings while the others bob in my head like ducks in a pond, waiting for inspiration to strike that just won't come.**

**Okay, so this is based on the general idea of 50 shades. Do not fret however as I have not read the book nor do I intend to so hopefully they will differ in both content and style.**

**Warnings: future BDSM and graphic sex.**

**Tremble**

Chapter One

Peeta walked along the street at a hurried pace, his satchel bumping against his hip in a rhythmic fashion. Haymitch had only called him that morning, demanding that he get himself to the Capitol Building immediately because they had managed to sustain an interview with Cato Hadley, rich bigwig of Panem. They had been trying to get this interview for weeks and now that they had gotten it, it was the matter of upmost importance that Peeta executed it perfectly.

The Capitol Building was huge. It towered over every other structure in the city like a giant. It reeked of sovereignty and significance. Even a foreigner would know that big things went on in that building, just from first glance at it. Peeta had never set foot in such a place before and couldn't help finding the whole idea incredibly daunting. But he knew he'd have to face this sort of thing when he became a reporter. He'd just have to push past the fear and get on with it.

The foyer was also huge. A massive circle with the Capitol symbol imprinted on the middle of the floor. The Panem flag hung in the corner and the only person to be seen, bar a few people milling around, was the girl at the reception desk. Thankfully, she looked approachable and not at all something to be feared.

Upon seeing him, her face lit up with a welcoming smile.

"Hello, welcome to Capitol Industries, how may I help you?" Her voice was so rehearsed it sounded like one of those telephone voices. The sort that tell you that you are fifth in a line of callers before the music flared up again.

"Um, yeah. I'm Peeta Mellark, from the District newspaper, I'm here to talk to Mr. Hadley? I think my boss said it was for 2:00pm?" God, Peeta hated being professional. It made him feel older than he actually was.

The girl tapped something into her computer, pink glossy lips pursed in deep thought. "Ah, yes," she finally said, "here you are." She pulled a pass out from a drawer in her desk and handed it over to Peeta. He pulled it over his head and the little piece of plastic saying 'Visitor' fell perfectly against the middle of his chest. "Go on up, his assistant will call you in when he's ready for you. Top floor. Hard to miss since his is the only room up there."

Nodding his thanks, Peeta took to the elevator. Normally he would take the stairs but, 30 floors was a lot to climb, and he wanted to make a good impression, not appear sweaty and breathless to an interview. When the doors slid open again, he found himself entering another reception area, this one much smaller and homier. Another desk sat before a set of double doors, except it was a man sitting behind it this time.

"Peeta Mellark?" the man asked upon his arrival.

Peeta nodded.

"Mr. Hadley will be with you shortly. Do take a seat while you're waiting." The man paused, pressing his fingers against his ear, presumably listening to something on his bluetooth. Looking up at Peeta again, he said, "Actually, he's ready for you now."

Wow. Peeta had been prepared to wait for 2:00 on the dot. He thought that someone with such a commendable reputation would be punctual right down to the final second. Not that he was complaining, this made his job easier. Beyond the double doors was a huge office that overlooked the entire Panem Skyline. It was easy to tell that a lot of money had been put into the design of the room as everything seemed to match and all the furniture was carefully placed so it looked like it belonged where it did. Peeta was suddenly aware of how he probably stuck out like a sore thumb. This sort of place was designed for people who wore suits and always looked their best. He hadn't thought to dress up for the interview, especially since Haymitch had called him at such last minute about it. Hopefully Mr. Hadley wouldn't mind the fact that he simply pulled on a pair of scruffy jeans and a shirt before grabbing the closest jacket and throwing it on as he left the house. He hadn't even thought to brush his hair.

A man stood at the window, back to the doors as he looked out at the gorgeous view below. Peeta could faintly see his reflection in the glass; a pair of glowing green eyes but not much else. As he approached, he quickly combed his fingers through his hair, hoping to make it look even a little presentable before Mr. Hadley turned around and saw him.

And turn around he did. Peeta had seen Mr. Hadley hundreds of times. Everyone had. You couldn't walk a mile in Panem without hearing about him or seeing him in adverts. But there was something incredibly different between actually hearing about him through word of mouth, looking at him in an advert or actually having him stand in front of you in the flesh. Peeta felt a twinge in his stomach, the sort of twinge he used to get when his mother forced him to watch Magic Mike before he realized he was gay. The twinge was always a pest, like his body was trying to tell him something. But he ignored it, like he always did. Professionalism first. Daydream about emerald green eyes and gorgeous jaw structure later.

"Peeta Mellark, I presume?" Mr. Hadley asked.

Peeta nodded, subconsciously wondering if everyone in this building was going to call him by both names. He hoped not. Again, it made him feel old. At least they weren't throwing out 'Mr's', Peeta wasn't prepared to crack the, "I'm not Mr. Mellark, that's my father," joke until he was at least thirty five. Not only was it pitifully embarrassing, it was the cringe worthy thing that would probably ever leave his mouth.

"I have to say, I wasn't too keen on the idea of an interview but when that man-Abernathy, was it?-told me that he would be sending you, it peeked my interest." Mr. Hadley walked around the desk and sat on the edge. Peeta watched him curiously the entire time. Why would he, an obscure reporter for the District News, peek anyone like Mr. Hadley's interest?

"Why's that?" he found himself asking.

Mr. Hadley gestured for Peeta to take a seat. He did so carefully, as he felt like his peasant blood might stain all of the beautiful Capitol fabrics surrounding him. "I read that piece you wrote about the delicate line between plagiarism and template art for the Arts & Culture sector," Mr. Hadley explained.

Peeta was surprised by this, he didn't think anyone read his stuff. Normally he just stuck to the Arts & Culture sector of the paper but Gale Hawthorne-the business reporter who was supposed to be taking care of this interview-had contracted small pox and was confined in his home. Haymitch must have-for some ludicrous reason-believed that Peeta was the next best fit to take on the job. Why? Peeta had no idea.

"You like art?" Peeta asked.

The older man shrugged. "It captures my attention from time to time."

"I see." Distracting himself before the twinge returned in all its painful glory, Peeta opened his satchel and pulled out his notepad. It was filled with scribbles about the opening dates for Art Galleries and possible headings for upcoming articles. He hoped the questions he devised for this were beneficial and relevant, since he had no idea what sort of things you should be asking a business man, certainly not one with such an exemplary reputation on his shoulders.

Thankfully, Mr. Hadley answered every question and didn't scoff or laugh at anything Peeta put before him. It was relieving and put his mind at ease. Even if he didn't understand half of the things Mr. Hadley was talking about, hoping that it was a business thing and it would make sense to everyone else who weren't out of their depth. Hopefully Gale would be happy with the answers he was getting, since he would have to deal with the fallout if it wasn't at all good.

"Okay, last question," Peeta didn't know whether to feel thankful or disappointed. On one hand, the terrifying ordeal of acting like he knew what he was talking about was almost over but on the other, he was enjoying the simple pleasure of being able to look at Mr. Hadley constantly without seeming creepy. It wasn't often that he was attracted to someone, especially someone close at hand (because apparently the Magic Mike boys didn't count, according to his mother), but it seemed that when he did, he reverted back to his teenage self. The sixteen year old who had confusing feelings towards Alex Petifyer and didn't understand why he had this overwhelming desire to lick the space behind his abs.

Mr. Hadley who, throughout the entire interview, had alternated between sitting on the edge of his desk to pacing to sitting again to once more pacing, spun around from his reassumed position of staring out the window and smiled. There was something off putting about his smile, something Peeta couldn't place. "Shoot," he said.

"What do you do outside of Capitol Industries? Do you have any hobbies or interests?" Peeta almost frowned. Why in the hell had he wrote than down? Who was going to care about that? Well, since it was out there now he might as well write down Mr. Hadley's response.

This question seemed to stir something. Mr. Hadley moved away from the window and stood in front of the leather couch in which Peeta had uneasily perched on throughout the entirety of the interview. The business man towered over him like an imposing giant and Peeta knew that, even if he stood up, it probably wouldn't make much of a difference.

"We've been talking about me for ages now. It's becoming incredibly monotonous," Mr. Hadley complained.

"I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Hadley"-

"Call me Cato. You don't work for me so there is no point in calling me that," intercepted Mr. Hadley.

"Okay, well then, uh, Cato, I don't mean to sound rude but this interview is about you," said Peeta. "It's the whole point in my coming here, isn't it?"

"Probably." Cato sat beside Peeta on the sofa and removed his notepad from his hands. He flicked through it nonsensically and Peeta watched him awkwardly, worried about whether he had copied down what Cato had told him correctly. He hoped that Cato also would be able to recognize shorthand as he did not want to seem illiterate. "You've got over ten pages of information here, isn't there something more pressing to talk about other than me?"

"I don't think so, sir," answered Peeta. Oh for the love of God. _Sir?!_ He wasn't talking to his Headmaster! "Do you think there is?"

Cato seemed to be thinking about it. Peeta's pencil dug painfully into his thigh while he waited on a response, the pain keeping him grounded to the situation. "Call me curious but I'm interested in hearing about you," the man finally concluded. Peeta raised his eyebrows in shock. Him? _Why?_ "Why don't you answer your own question?"

"Because if you thought hearing about yourself was boring, I am the peak of monotony," answered Peeta.

"I somehow don't believe that," Cato replied. His eyes were gleaming with curiosity and Peeta couldn't look away.

"My lifestyle won't seem in the slightest bit interesting compared to yours," Peeta insisted. He reached out and plucked the notepad back from Cato. He had plenty of information to go on. The last question wasn't necessary. Besides, why would a rich man like Cato want to hear about the amazingly plain daily life of an out of his depth Arts & Culture reporter whose interest resided in baking and art?

Cato clasped Peeta's wrist in his hand, halting any plans of leaning away. Peeta blinked in surprise and looked at the man expectantly, presuming he had something to say before he left. Except, he didn't. Cato just stared at him with an expression Peeta couldn't decipher. Not now anyway. His head was cocked a little to the side and his face was unreadable. Peeta wished he could see what the man was thinking and for once, horrifying; terrifying and exciting moment, Peeta thought that he was about to kiss him.

But then, it was over.

Cato released his wrist and sat back, another smile crawling onto his face like caterpillar. "I'll see you around, _Peeta Mellark_," he said, pronouncing every syllable in Peeta's name in a way that made his face heat up.

Smiling sheepishly and laughing in a strange way that resembled air rushing out from between his teeth, Peeta stood up shoved his notepad into his satchel. He didn't turn around once on his exit, fearful that if he did, the last glimpse of Cato would be just the right excuse for his knees to completely collapse out from underneath him.

Besides, Cato wouldn't care if he looked back. He had more pressing things to be getting on with that worrying about the fumbling reporter who was so plain and boring.

Hardly worth remembering, that was him.

Good old, forgettable Peeta.

~T~

Delly had experienced a break up that day. Peeta didn't find out about it until they met later on at The Seam and she was knocked out of her head with alcohol. There were only two occasions when Delly drank: when her favourite boy bands break up and when she experiences a break up with who she thought was 'the one'. And, whenever she got drunk, she forced everyone around herself to get drunk to.

Peeta didn't mind all that much, he could use a drink or two after today.

"I almost forgot to ask," Delly slurred, beer can swinging wildly in her left hand, "how did the interview go?" In her current state, it was a wonder she hadn't fallen off her stool yet.

"It went . . . okay," Peeta concluded. He drank much more carefully, knowing that if Delly didn't find another possible conquest, he would be taking her home.

"I know that Hadley guy from those adverts," Delly pressed. She whistled and almost missed her mouth, smacking her cheek with the top of the can. Peeta took it off her and placed it on the bar until her co-ordination improved. "Whooo, if I was a guy that would be the guy I would go for."

"If you were a guy?" Peeta said slowly.

Delly nodded. "Guys who like guys tend to go for guys," she whispered, as if this was the meaning to life. "You, of all people, should know this."

"Uh . . . I'm sorry, _what?_" Delly never made any sense when she drunk. This was one of those many occasions.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy," Delly elaborated.

"Right. That's all you had to say." The whole pussy footing thing about his sexuality was a bit irritating, since no one would think twice before telling a straight person that the business man they had been interviewing earlier was straight as well. What Peeta was most interested in, however, was how Delly had managed to obtain the information regarding Cato's sexuality.

Delly rolled her eyes and picked her beer back up, the liquid slipping over the lip of the can haphazardly. "This is the 1950's kid," she said in a phony American accent, "I'm all for your out and proudness but I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Peeta glanced at Katniss, the barmaid. "I think she's had enough," he told her.

Katniss nodded. "Agreed."

"Hey, I am not even part way drunk!" slurred Delly in protest.

"Go home, Cartwright, you're drunk," Katniss advised.

Peeta helped Delly get home, which was easy since her building was literally across the road from the bar. Once she was safely in her apartment, tucked in bed, he returned to The Seam and had another drink. He didn't know what else to do. All there was waiting for him at home was an empty house with four walls of judgment.

"You gotta hand it to her, Delly may be a lightweight but her American accent is spot on," Katniss said to break the silence.

"I suppose it's all the old movies she watches," Peeta replied. He and Katniss dated when they were fifteen. It was nothing serious, even though she had thought it would last longer than it did, and Peeta was glad that they were still able to talk to each other after the break up. Katniss had taken the news well. Better than he had thought she would. What girl would want to hear, "I'm sorry but I think I'm gay," from their one year boyfriend?

"She's right about Mr. Hadley," Katniss said. She picked up a tea towel and began rubbing down a glass that had been sitting on the bar. "He's about as straight as a piece of spiral pasta."

"How do you know all this? Did I miss a headline or something?" Peeta asked incredulously.

Katniss shrugged. "The guy has had a couple of conquests the past. He's very secretive about it, though. Wouldn't talk about it publicly."

"Because you know how much of a scandal it would be if the country discovered that a famously powerful person was gay," Peeta bitterly muttered. With Panem's attitude towards sexuality and relationships, the country might as well still be in the dark ages. Sometimes Peeta felt like the only person who's openly came out. Which obviously isn't true but either everyone else was trying to make him feel weird about it or there really aren't that many gay men. Maybe it was a sign that he was destined to die alone.

"Aw, come on, don't be like that," Katniss said. She nudged Peeta's face and forced him to look at her. She raised her eyebrows. "How do you think I feel? I spent a year trying to get you to have sex with me without realizing that idea probably wanted to make you vomit."

"I wouldn't say vomit," Peeta replied, Katniss' smile being as contagious as the chicken pox. "The idea just wasn't appealing at the time."

Katniss laughed. "Is that what they call it now-a-days?" she chuckled. Passing him another can of beer, she asked, "Remember that time we were playing Super Mario Kart and I wanted to make out but you kept insisting that it was of the upmost important that you beat Rye's high score?"

The memory made Peeta laugh as well. It had only been two months into the relationship and he had had himself convinced that it was too soon to be locking lips with Katniss. She had been insistent, trying to take the Wii remote out of his hands and pressing kisses against the side of his neck that she probably thought would capture his attention. Really, Peeta should have noticed then that something was up. But no, it took Magic Mike and the twinge for him to realize the truth. And Alex Petifyer's abs, of course.

"I suppose I should I known," Katniss continued. "However, it was nice to have someone to talk to about the almost inhuman good looks of Davey Plum post break up."

Peeta groaned at the memory of the human equal of a Greek God who used to sit in front of him in calculus. "Do not get me started," he warned.

This made Katniss laugh. She winked and looked at her watch. "Yes! My shift's ending in five minutes," she said.

"Any plans?" Peeta asked.

"I've got a date tonight," she answered.

"Oh cool, anyone I'd know?"

"Probably not." Even though Peeta had been the one to break up with Katniss, she seemed to be doing better in the field of romanticism that he had ever since. He remained a lonely spinster, awaiting the day where he would discover the perfect man who would be attracted to him in return. Long after Katniss left for her date, Peeta stayed in the bar, contemplating how his life had become as lonely as it had.

This lead him to order another can of beer.

And another.

And another.

And another.

By the time he left The Seam, he was completely smashed. Common sense dictated that he should have went across the road to Delly's and stayed there for the night but, stubborn as usual, Peeta found himself taking the road less travelled back to Casa De Mellark. Which was three miles away. Along the way he took multiple breaks on park benches and bus stop seats, almost falling asleep on them every single time.

Three quarters of a mile through, Peeta stopped and drew his knees up to his chest on a park bench not far from the center of the city. Pressing his face against his thighs, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to make it if his head didn't clear up and if he fell asleep on the bench, chances were that a hobo was going to steal his satchel.

"Peeta Mellark?"

Looking up, Peeta could have sworn he saw Cato standing in front of him. Probably the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. All the talk of the man mingled with the toxins in his head and caused an apparition of the gorgeous man to appear in front of him. "Mr. Hadley?" he replied, his voice at a snail's pace.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting to throw up." Peeta really didn't mix with huge amounts of alcohol. Someday he would grow to accept this. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Wondering why you're sitting on a park bench at one in the morning waiting to throw up," Cato answered. He held something out towards Peeta. "Drink this."

"What is it?" Peeta asked, taking it regardless.

"It's water," answered Cato. "Drink it before you really do throw up."

The water felt like liquid gold as it slid down Peeta's throat. However, once it reached his stomach it reacted unhappily with the alcohol in his system and he threw himself over the side of the bench as he vomited up everything he had consumed in the past three hours.

"See, I lied," Cato explained. "It's water with a tablet dissolved into it designed to rid the body of toxic substances."

Peeta would have responded with a cutting remark if he wasn't currently throwing up. He felt a hand on his back, rubbing in a comforting manner. It helped elevate the horror a little, especially when he nearly fell off the bench as a cough wracked his body. When he finished, he pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the bench and sighed. He did feel better, he hated to admit, now that most of the alcohol had been forced from his system.

"Better?" Cato asked.

"Eh." Peeta felt his eyes droop and didn't notice himself sliding off the bench until it was too late.

The last thing he registered before he blacked out was Cato shouting his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, the response to this has been amazing! Thank you guys for your lovely comments! **

**I've decided to post a chapter every Monday, to give myself more time to write. The same goes for Puppet Strings. Whenever the next update is posted will be the day it will always be posted for the rest of the duration of the story. It lessens the pressure to update in my eyes if I let you guys know when to expect another chapter :-)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**I apologize for any typos!**

Chapter Two

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

Urgh, why was his head thumping? Peeta nuzzled his face into the pillow to ward the pain away, internally swearing to never drink again. The pillow felt weird. Definitely not the cheap knock off cotton sheets Katniss bought him for Christmas. These were soft and silky, certainly not something he could afford on his own. Hold on, then what was going on?

Forcing his eyes open and blinking through the haze of sticky sleep and tangled eyelashes, Peeta found himself in a room that wasn't his own. His head felt heavy but he hauled himself up to sit upright on the bed. He examined his surroundings in awe. This was definitely _not_ his room. It was too extravagant. Was he dreaming? Peeta discreetly pinched himself. Nope. Besides, who would dream up a hangover? Speaking of the hangover. Peeta groaned and rubbed his temples irritably. God, who in their right mind would do this every weekend by choice? It was mad! The pain wasn't worth the high and from what Peeta remembered from the previous night, he had gotten no high what-so-ever. Then again, he should have known that. He was a depressing drunk.

"Woken up, I see?"

Peeta jumped in shock, surprised to find Cato standing in the doorway of the room, an amused smirk on his face. "Oh my god, don't shout like that," Peeta said, squeezing his forehead between his thumb and forefinger.

Cato chuckled. "Hangover?"

"Huge one," Peeta replied. He looked back up at Cato and blinked. "Where am I, exactly? Is this your place?"

Cato looked around as if seeing it in a whole new light suddenly. "Yeah, it is. You passed out and fell into your own vomit last night so I carried you back here. I would have taken you home but there's the little snag that I have absolutely no idea where you live."

Mortification threatened to swallow Peeta whole and his face heated up in embarrassment at the idea of his passing out into his own sick in front of this insanely attractive guy. It was then that he realized that if he passed out into his sick-as Cato said-then he had probably gotten his clothes covered in it too. Looking down, Peeta realized with increasing horror that he wasn't wearing anything other than his underwear. His eyes shot back to Cato, who didn't seem at all bothered by the fact.

"Where are my clothes?" Peeta asked.

"Drying off. Do you really think I was going to put you to sleep in my Armani sheets while you're covered in sick? I may be kind but I'm not that kind," Cato replied. He leaned against the doorframe and made no attempt to hide the fact that his eyes had drifted down to the younger boy's bare chest. Peeta flushed in embarrassment and pulled the sheets up to cover himself. Cato probably thought the worst of him now. First, he gets so hammered that he swan dives into his own sick and second, he doesn't make an immediate attempt to cover himself up when he's near enough naked.

"I'm just about to make breakfast, is there anything you preference?" Cato inquired.

"I can't even think about eating," Peeta replied, his stomach gurgling unhappily at the very idea.

"You need food in your system," Cato said, his voice firm. Peeta glanced at him through his hair, wondering why he was being so authorative with him. "They say dry toast settles a stomach so I'd say that's your best option here."

"This isn't up for discussion, is it?" asked Peeta.

"Well, I wouldn't like to be rude and say yes but let's just say that in terms of discussion, this is not up for it." Cato smiled widely, gauging Peeta's perplexed expression with great amusement. "In the mean-time, you can have a shower. It's in there, to the right. Just use one of my robes when you're finished. Your clothes aren't completely dry yet."

Without another word, he disappeared off to where-ever the doorway lead. Peeta blinked, trying to get the encounter straight in his head. Okay, first things first, do as Cato says and have a shower. Peeta pulled back the covers and slipped off the bed, closing his eyes momentarily in distraught horror at the extent of his naked state. He had padded his way half way across the room when he paused.

Wait, do as Cato says? Why should he do as Cato says? Still . . . a shower sounded nice.

As he entered the en-suite bathroom and turned the shower on, Peeta kept telling himself he was doing it for himself, not because Cato told him to. For himself. For himself. For . . . himself. Yes. Because Cato wasn't bossing him around, the shower had been a helpful suggestion since Peeta probably smelt like alcohol and vomit anyway.

The water was nice. It was hot and made him feel a little less sick. The throbbing in his head dulled to a faint thump and he felt relieved that the pain was subsiding. When he was finished, he found the robe Cato was talking about. Because of Cato's superior breadth due to muscle mass and masculinity, the robe dwarfed Peeta and he felt like a child walking in his father's clothes.

The door to the bedroom lead out onto a white hallway. The hallway was also a balcony, the wall made of glass so you could peer through and see the floor below. Directly to the left was a massive window, the view indescribable. Doors lined the wall to the right and Peeta dared not think what lay beyond them. A house of such style and expense probably had over a hundred spare rooms. The white carpet was impossibly soft against the soles of his feet as he made his way down the hall to the stairs, which weren't carpeted and were a cold shock when he stepped out onto the first step. Peeta was glad that he had taken a shower because surely he, someone who did not belong in a place like this, would dirty such pleasant scenery.

The bottom floor was larger than the top. Peeta felt a little disorientated. He tipped his head back and gaped at how far away the ceiling was. Jesus, this must be what came with being a rich business man. Made Peeta's bungalow look like a shack. Peeta rubbed his arms and went off in search of Cato. He guessed in which direction he should go, judging by what he hoped were the sounds of Cato moving around.

"Um, Cato?" he called out. Oh damn, his voice even echoed.

"Yeah?" Cato replied.

Peeta followed the voice and pushed through a door (he guessed mahogany, since Cato didn't seem to spare any expense) which lead out into a kitchen. A kitchen which, like the rest of the house, was overwhelmingly exorbitant. Peeta tightened the knot at the front of the robe and stepped further into the room. He was surprised to find Cato pouring hot water out of the kettle into two mugs himself. Wouldn't a man such as himself have staff or something?

Clearing his throat, Peeta made his presence known. He wasn't fond of standing before Cato in nothing but a robe that didn't fit right but he also wasn't fond of standing awkwardly, waiting to be noticed. When Cato turned with the mugs, he grinned at the younger boy standing in his kitchen, clutching the fabric of the too-big-robe to his chest with one hand and keeping the part that split below the robe tie pulled together with the other.

"Nice shower?" Cato asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Peeta answered. "Um, are my clothes dry yet?"

"Not quite yet," replied Cato. He pushed a plate of dry toast across the table and gestured at it. "Do sit."

Peeta sat down on a stool by the table, still unsure about whether he could stomach food or not. "I'm sorry but I have to ask this, why would you bother carrying me to your place?" he asked, hopefully distracting Cato from the matter of eating the toast on the plate. "You could have walked on by, your life wouldn't be affected by it."

Cato leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling his mug in his hands. "I haven't been known for abandoning the vulnerable," he said. "If I had have left you there, there would be no doubt that a homeless man would have come along and either did one of two things."

"Which are?" asked Peeta.

"Rob you or rape you," Cato shrugged.

"The double 'R'," Peeta said. He knew full well that blacking out in the streets of Panem was incredibly dangerous and he was lucky that Cato had carried him to safety. Most wouldn't be as generous. A sudden thought came to mind. Panic flooded him and he almost stood back up in fear. "Where's my satchel?"

Cato raised his eyebrows at the sudden change in Peeta's tone. He paused before answering, as if basking in Peeta's panic was something he greatly enjoyed. "Don't worry, it's safe. It's with your clothes. Well, a little away from your clothes as the leather would crinkle near the radiator."

Peeta relaxed, reaching out and taking a nervous sip of the coffee. It wasn't completely black, thank god, and had some milk in it to soften the sour taste. Coffee was Peeta's saviour as it wrapped itself around his headache and cushioned the blow of the agony it once caused. "I don't suppose you can't pretend that you didn't see me violently vomit and fall into it?" he asked.

"It's an interesting image, I have to say," Cato replied.

"Interesting is not the word I would have thought of," Peeta scoffed. "I'd think more along the lines of mortifying, disgusting and flat out embarrassing."

Cato chuckled. "I've seen a lot worse," he said.

"Somehow, I believe that," Peeta replied. Cato's eyes dipped down again and when he looked down, Peeta realized with alarm that he had let go of the top of the robe to drink the coffee and the oversized material had dropped open again. Gathering it back up into his hand, he ducked his head sheepishly and muttered an apology.

"My fault really, since I should have put your clothes on to dry sooner," Cato shrugged, unfazed by the shoddy fitting of the robe.

"I'm just thankful my underwear didn't get dirty," Peeta weakly joked. "Although, I doubt you would have taken them off too."

Cato smirked and put his mug down. Upon his exit of the kitchen, he commented, "Then you underestimate my dedication." He paused at the door and added, "Eat your toast."

Peeta only managed to eat half of a slice before feeling sick again. God, this was weird. He had never woken up in another man's house before, let alone sat in their kitchen in nothing but a robe and his underwear. He finished the rest of the coffee easily. The warmth from it thankfully helped heat him up, as if he hadn't had the coffee then he'd probably have been freezing. The only part of his body that the coffee didn't reach was his feet which was really annoying since it was probably the worst part of the body to feel cold. What he would do for a pair of thick woolly socks.

When he returned, Cato held Peeta's clothes in his hand, each garment neatly folded and placed on the palm of his hand. "Good as new," he declared. "And I will return them to you on one condition."

Peeta eyed Cato wearily, silently cursing when the twinge returned. _Not now_, he told himself. "What is it?" he asked.

"A date. Tonight."

Peeta waited for the punchline. When it didn't come, he asked, "What if I say no?"

"I'm sure the Goodwill will appreciate the clothes," Cato replied.

"You're joking, right?" Peeta's heart was racing. Was Cato really trying to blackmail a date out him? All he'd really have to do was ask and he'd probably answer with yes.

"Do you want to find out if I am or not?" Cato challenged.

They stared at each other, waiting for the other to break. The twinge grew stronger but Peeta ignored it. He was first to speak, as the silence was deafening. "You could have just asked," he said.

"Ah but that would be too easy," Cato grinned. He gave Peeta his clothes but grabbed his wrist before he could fully accept them. It was a firm grasp that sent a tiny spark of pain up his arm. Whoa, what? Peeta looked at Cato expectantly, presuming that he had something to say. "And I never take the easy option," the older man said, his voice low.

Somehow, Peeta knew this was the truth.

~T~

Peeta had never been on a date with a man before. The only relationship experience he had ever had was with Katniss and he doubted that counted anymore since they barely did anything relationship-y. Ever since he had found his true sexual calling, he hadn't had a relationship. It wasn't that he didn't want one, it just never came up. So that was why he was so nervous about going on a date with Cato.

The restaurant was lovely. Extremely prestigious and terrifyingly upper class. Peeta felt like every eye was on him as soon as he stepped inside, each one silently judging him and his Merchant blood. It was like they could smell it off him. Smell the peasant in him. Immediately knowing that he didn't belong.

Cato was there before him and wore the biggest smile when he saw Peeta make his way toward the table he currently sat at. "Ah, Peeta Mellark, it's nice to see you again. How long has it been?"

"About six hours?" Peeta replied. He slipped into the seat across from Cato and sat straighter than he normally would. He didn't want to offend the many distinguished people in the restaurant any more than he already had. He was the oddity, the thing that was so offensive. It amazed him how they were able to tell where he was from just from how he carried himself. Was there a certain way Merchants carried themselves that gave away their backgrounds?

"That long?" Cato laughed. "Does time fly or what?"

"Yeah, I know, it's shocking," Peeta replied. "At least I've got shoes on this time. Although, it would have been nice to know this was where we were going beforehand. I wouldn't have worn my old sneakers. Not that I would wear old sneakers to a date normally, I was just running a little late because I had to hand over the write up of the interview with you before I got here and it's easier to run in these."

"Don't worry about it, they're kind of cute," said Cato.

"Everyone else doesn't seem to think so," Peeta replied. He tucked his feet underneath his chair, trying to hide them from the nosey eyes of the other patrons.

"Who cares about what they think?" Cato replied. "The only person you should be worrying about in this room is yourself. And, if you stretch it, me."

"Do I reek of hick or something?" Peeta asked in a hushed voice.

"I'd call it more of a bumpkin scent," said Cato. When Peeta flushed at the very idea, Cato grinned and added, "It's a very manly scent. You should be proud of it."

"Uh-huh, okay," responded Peeta. He picked at his fingernails thoughtfully. Obviously Cato was kidding. He didn't stink of country bumpkin or anything, really everyone else were just being esteemed assholes. Just because he didn't fit into their silly expectations of refined lifestyle. What was wrong with fraying converse anyway? It was a brand! Albeit not a well-known brand but still a brand!

"You never answered my question," Cato pointed out.

"What question?" asked Peeta.

"About your hobbies and interests," Cato explained. "Remember?"

"Oh. Well, there's nothing to tell really. I work as a reporter for the Arts & Culture sector of the District News and all I do in my spare time really is paint or bake," Peeta answered. God, did his life sound boring. Brushing his hair out of his face, he muttered, "I'm sure compared to your daily life that sounds pitiful."

"Far from it, really," Cato answered. "It sounds refreshing. When you spend most of your life trapped in an office, things like hobbies don't really come around too often."

"So there's nothing you're interested in?" asked Peeta.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what?"

"My interests are . . . in a different genre to yours altogether."

_What did that mean?_ Peeta wondered.

"So, tell me, have you had many relationships in the past?" asked Cato, leaning back in his seat. Peeta focused solely on the man's eyes, knowing that if he diverted even a little bit then he was going to end up staring at Cato's torso and how the dress shirt fit his form perfectly.

"No," Peeta answered, ignoring how his face was heating up. "I had a thing with a girl named Katniss, who is now my best friend"-he paused when Cato raised his eyebrows in disbelief-"pre sexual calling."

"I see," Cato said. "And in terms of with men?"

"Zero." Peeta smiled to make it sound lighter than it actually was.

"When you were with this girl-Katniss, was it?-did you two ever . . . ?" Cato waved his hand in a flippant gesture, hoping that Peeta got the message.

He did.

"Um, no," the younger boy answered, the line of questioning doing nothing for his current temperature. "She tried but I just couldn't . . ." Peeta swallowed to dampen his dry throat, ". . . couldn't get into it."

There was one time where Katniss got close. They'd been at The Seam all night and were staying at her apartment because it was so late. They'd been drunk at the time but Katniss, having always handled her liquor better than Peeta, had been a little more conscious than he had been. Peeta couldn't remember much from the encounter because he had been so wasted. All that really came to mind anytime he tried to think about it was Katniss sitting between his legs, kissing a path from his chest to his stomach. But from what she had told him, apparently he had muttered Davey Plum's name and it threw her off completely. At the time she chalked it down to his being hammered but when he later came out of the proverbial closet, it was obvious what the true answer had been.

"So you're a virgin?" If Cato was surprised, he didn't voice it. A twenty one year old virgin. Surely that wasn't too odd.

Sex was just something Peeta had never thought about. He knew how it worked, he learned that sort of thing when he discovered his sexuality. However, it always seemed very . . . messy to him. It was beyond his comprehension how anyone could feel good from having things shoved in places that they shouldn't be. And don't get him started on the oral side of things. Who would ever think about putting their mouth down there?! Hands seemed bad enough.

Peeta rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Is that a problem?" he asked.

The flame of the lit candle between them flickered off Cato's face, casting shadows and making him look as imposing as ever. "Absolutely not," the older man said, his voice almost like a purr.

The rest of the date flew by. Conversation flowed easily and Peeta actually found himself enjoying himself. Afterward, Cato invited him back to his house for a drink and Peeta, not wanting it to end, accepted the invitation. The walk to Cato's house, however, was charged with electricity and Peeta felt unsettled the entire time. His body was unnaturally hot and the twinge in his stomach was prolonged and painful. More than it had ever been before.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Cato wasted no time before he made his true intentions clear. He kissed Peeta with such brutality and force that the younger boy stumbled backward a little in surprise. Peeta was taken completely off guard but instantly adjusted, his lips fitting perfectly with Cato's. Cato kissed him senseless, his arms coming up to cage him against the door. Mind whirling at a million miles per minute, Peeta felt dizzy with delirium. His fingernails dug into Cato's biceps, the hold keeping him anchored to reality. His body quaked with excitement, unused nerves awakening and catching fire inside of him.

Never once breaking the kiss, Cato's hands slid up Peeta's arms, taking a firm hold of them and pinning them against the door above his head. Peeta tried to pull away to catch his breath but only got one breath in before Cato had reclaimed his lips. The older man's body pressed against the younger blond's, the hard planes of muscle pushing against his slightly softer exterior. Peeta didn't know what to do with himself, he was barely able to keep up with Cato's kissing. He tried to free his arms but it was no use, they were stuck fast.

They somehow made it to Cato's bedroom. Peeta couldn't believe what was happening, his brain practically melting because of the anticipation of what was coming. Cato was powerful and insistent, he absorbed control and oozed it. Lips locked together still, they lay on Cato's bed like a pair of teenagers making out while the parents were out. Peeta felt he was getting the hang of it, which wasn't difficult since Cato did most of the work.

Even when Peeta could breathe, he felt like he couldn't. As once his mouth was free to once again take in oxygen, Cato's lips were finding the sensitive parts of his neck to suck on. His breath escaped him in embarrassingly loud pants, his voice echoing in the room like a constant reminder of how unattractive he was probably coming off as.

Cato wedged his knee between Peeta's thighs, applying pressure upwards until the smaller boy moaned in appreciation. It wasn't enough. Curling one hand into the boy's golden locks to hold his head in place, Cato slid his spare hand down the smooth slope of Peeta's shoulder blades and spine until it reached its destination. He groped the young virgin's behind over his jeans, using the hold as leverage and pushing him down against him.

Peeta grunted as ecstasy threatened to consume him. He rocked against Cato without shame, his hands grasping Cato's back like it were his only life line. His body seemed to enjoy being manhandled and he met every one of Cato's advances with approval. They kissed again, the power Cato put into it making Peeta sink into the pillows. Taking both of Peeta's hands, Cato pinned them against the mattress away from his body, using the grip to hold himself up.

Blinking blearily at Cato, Peeta met his eyes, which were darkened with lust. They were both still fully clothed, albeit a little scruffy, but that did not make them any less aroused. They were both pitifully horny and it was clear from how they looked at each other that they were both on the same page about it.

However, Cato withdrew a little.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said.

Peeta whined in protest, squirming uncomfortably. "Whhyyy?" he complained.

Cato stared at him, jaw clenched, like it was the hardest thing in the world to pull away. What he did next confused Peeta. He lay down next to him and pulled him tight against his body. So tight that Peeta could feel his hardness pressing against his ass. He shivered. "Be a good boy, okay?" Cato mumbled into Peeta's ear, his teeth dragging up along his lobe.

For some reason, Peeta _wanted_ to be a good boy.

_Cato's_ good boy.

**A/N: So why do you think Cato pulled away? I'd love to hear your thoughts! You'll find out the truth next Monday ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Heeelllooo! I can't believe it's Monday again! Mockingjay Part 1 is coming out this week! Argh! **

**Credit for the Contract goes to HotCoffee21. It is extracted from their Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction 'One'. (Taken with permission of course, I'm not a thief!) I highly recommend their fic, it's very well written and very interesting!**

**Warning: The usual. Mentions of future graphic sex, BDSM, etc. I think you guys get the idea anyway.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or the wording of the Contract. I have only made some minor tweaks to the Contract so it fits my story.**

Chapter Three

Peeta woke up alone. In Cato's house. Again. Man, was this becoming a habit? Thankfully, this time he was wearing clothes, the only thing that seemed to have been taken off being his shoes. Why did Cato flounce off? He changed so suddenly last night, maybe he had changed his mind about wanting to do anything with Peeta. The thought made his stomach sink. Oh God, if that was true then it was going to be just the incentive he needed to crawl into a hole and die in his pit of loneliness.

Peeta propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, pooling on the carpet and spreading warmth around the room. Now that his brain wasn't clouded with endorphins he could clearly see that this was a different room than the one he woke up in yesterday. He wasn't surprised. Cato probably had hundreds of rooms in this palace-like house.

He was just considering climbing out of bed when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Shit. The next thing he did was completely done by impulse. Peeta buried his face into the pillow and pretended to be asleep. Why? He didn't know. It wasn't like Cato would be angry if he saw that he was awake and yet here he was acting like he was still sleeping as if he would get his head bitten off if he were any different.

The door creaked open and Peeta held his breath. It closed again and Cato approached the bed. It dipped under his weight as he climbed back into it. Every hair stood up on Peeta's body, standing to attention at the proximity of another body. Another really hot body. The body heat of two caused the bed to warm up like an oven.

A hand touched his arm and it took everything Peeta had not to flinch or melt into the touch. Warm breath brushed past his ear and Peeta couldn't contain his shudder. "I know you're not asleep," Cato purred.

"I could be," Peeta mumbled, keeping his eyes shut while he spoke.

"No you couldn't, your mouth was shut. From what I've seen of your beautiful sleeping form over the past two days you sleep with your mouth open," Cato replied, pressing a tentative kiss against the younger boy's ear.

Damn it. Why did he hold his breath? Peeta gave in and opened his eyes, turning around to face Cato on the bed. "Where were you?" he asked.

"I had to take a business call," Cato answered. His eyebrows lifted in curiosity. "You didn't think I'd ditched you, did you?"

"Wouldn't you think the same thing?" Peeta demanded. It was hard not to get swept away every time he laid eyes on Cato. He was gorgeous. Painfully so. Why would a man like that even want to give someone like Peeta the time of day, let alone want to take them on a date and share a bed with them?

"I am many things Peeta Mellark but a sleeze is not one of them." As if to prove the point, Cato leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss against Peeta's lips. As chaste as it was, the action took Peeta's breath away. "You just looked so utterly content lying in my bed that I did not wish to disturb you by shouting at my good-for-nothing assistant over the phone." He swiped a thumb over Peeta's eyelid, enjoying the way they fluttered in response. "Your eyelashes flutter when you're really deep asleep. It's actually very cute."

Peeta found this hard to believe. He wasn't the cute sort. Sure, maybe when he was a tubby toddler but not now.

Cato kissed him again. His fingers tangled themselves in Peeta's hair while his arm wound around his waist, drawing him closer and pressing their bodies together. Surprising himself by being so compliant, Peeta closed his eyes and opened his mouth, a soft moan escaping him as Cato folded his bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it like a lollipop. His heart was in his throat, his face burning like a fire.

When Cato pulled away, a curious expression on his face, Peeta frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this," the older man concluded.

Peeta stared at him with wide eyes. "Why?" he asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

Cato sat up and shook his head. "Oh God no, it's not you," he said. "It's you that I'm worried about."

"Worried about?" Peeta repeated. "Why would you be worried about me? Is it because I'm a virgin? Because I really don't care how that goes down as long as it happens before I'm at least twenty five."

"No, it's not that. I know you could handle it, you're tough as old boots, but I can't go on acting like this," said Cato. "It's killing me."

Wiping the saliva from his mouth, Peeta asked, "Acting like what?"

"Like if we were together it would be anything but normal."

Okay, that was worrying. Peeta climbed out of the bed and walked around to Cato's side so he was standing in front of him. "What do you mean anything but normal?" he asked. "Is it because you're all big and powerful and I'm just a peasant from Merchant streets?" The more Peeta thought about it, the more the pieces slid together. "You don't want your people finding out that you're dating a bumpkin, do you? I bet that's why"-

Rolling his eyes, Cato stood up and slapped his hand over Peeta's mouth. "Will you give over with the peasant crap? I wouldn't care if you were a hobo, I'd still probably have french kissed your brains out just then. It's nothing to do with class or power or money. It's nothing to do with how people perceive us together. It's about how a relationship with me is anything but normal."

It was Peeta's turn to roll his eyes. He removed Cato's hand from his mouth. "How so?" he asked.

"I can't say."

"Well then I'm sticking with my peasant theory." Peeta folded his arms defiantly.

_God,_ Cato thought in that moment, _he's so hot when he's stubborn._

Chewing on his bottom lip, Cato came to a decision. It was make or break anyway. Since he was going to lose Peeta either way, he might as well tell him the truth. "Come with me," he said. Grabbing Peeta's wrist, Cato lead Peeta to the mirrored wardrobe that took up the entire right hand wall. He slid the door back and beckoned the younger boy to follow him inside. It was a walk in wardrobe that could easily house ten people.

A chest of drawers of inside. Cato pulled open the top drawer and stepped back for Peeta to look inside.

"Okay, so you're kinky, so what?" Peeta asked, looking at Cato with a confused frown. Inside the drawer was an array of sex toys. Peeta hadn't seen many in his life time but it wasn't hard to envision what most looked like. The variety was a little shocking but so what? Why would Cato think that constituted an 'abnormal' relationship?

"It's not kinkiness," Cato said, his voice as solid as a rock. He had changed through the course of the conversation, like his walls were falling away the more they spoke to each other. Peeta was alarmed by the demeanor change.

"Then what is it?" Peeta frowned, peering into the drawer once more. Again, his wrist was grabbed (was this how Cato was always going to shepherd him around?) and Cato pushed further in. Peeta stumbled after him, pushing past miles of clothes and shoes until they arrived at another door. "What is this? The Chronicles of Narina?"

"Funny," Cato said flatly. He pulled a chain up from around his neck and stuck it into the lock in the door. When it twisted, Cato gestured at Peeta. "After you."

"Don't mind if I do," Peeta responded, scooting past Cato in the claustrophobic space and pushing the door open. However, when he was inside, his joking façade disappeared.

"Do you think _that's_ kinkiness?" Cato challenged.

The room was constructed for one thing and one thing only: Sex. Not just ordinary sex, the sort of sex you'd read about in cheesy erotic novels for women that they sold at the airport shops. What was it called again? Peeta couldn't recall. His eyes didn't know exactly what they were looking at but some things were easily deciphered. Bed. Couch. Hooks hanging from ceiling. A grid mechanism. Another set of drawers, similar to the one in the wardrobe, and a weird structure hanging from the ceiling.

"I don't suppose that's a yoga swing?" Peeta weakly joked.

This made Cato chuckle. "No, it most certainly is not."

Peeta walked further into the room, running his fingers along the silky material of the red sheets on the bed. "What is all this?" he asked.

"It's my secret life," Cato replied, sounding actually quite proud of it. Peeta looked over his shoulder at the older man, wondering how one man could be so proud of a room.

"Of what?" Peeta asked in confusion. He focused his eyes back in front of him, taking in every perplexing piece of equipment he could.

"Peeta, turn around and look at me."

Cato's voice made Peeta shiver and he did as he was told. He spun around on his heel and looked at Cato, who stood with his arms crossed across his chest. Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled himself up, standing as straight as he possibly could to at least somehow match the dominant stance. It didn't work one bit.

"Of what?" Peeta repeated, holding eye contact the entire time.

"I am a Dom, Peeta. Behind closed doors I lead a life of BDSM," Cato said carefully, his voice measured and controlled. "Meaning bondage, domination, submission and masochism."

Peeta's heart palpitated but for some reason he didn't feel scared. He should have, he knew that. This man could easily lock him in here and use him as a pleasure slave in his sex dungeon. For some reason he felt the opposite. Completely safe. "If it's such a secret lifestyle, why are you showing me after only one day?"

"Because, if you haven't noticed-which you probably haven't-you are an extremely attractive man who I find it hard to keep my hands off," Cato stated simply.

Whoa. Peeta hadn't expected that answer. Brushing his hair back from his face, just to have something to occupy his actions, Peeta asked, "And why would this affect a relationship? If it's just a pass time surely it's something that can be controlled?"

"This isn't a pass time, Peeta. It's a lifestyle choice," Cato answered. He gestured around the room. "This is a constant. I don't just decide when I'm going to do it in a certain period of time like you may do with your paintings."

"I don't understand," Peeta finally concluded. "Is this why stopped you last night? This morning? All this? I can't see why it would affect that."

"I have never been intimate with someone without a contract having been signed first. You're my first sexual partner who has never been a part of this world," Cato explained. "And I'm not prepared to deal with the fall out of what might happen to you if we were to go all the way. I stopped last night because my mind was beginning to wander, thinking about things that shouldn't be thought about a person who isn't my own submissive."

"Submissive?" The word sounded foreign to Peeta.

Cato couldn't fight the smirk that broke out across his face. "You'd be the perfect submissive," he informed the younger boy.

"Then why can't I?" asked Peeta.

Cato laughed. When Peeta scowled, the older man had to hold himself back from grabbing the boy and kissing him again. "It's not something you just randomly decide. You have to be committed."

"I am committed," Peeta said indignantly.

Cato walked around Peeta and pulled a thick leather bound book out from the second drawer in the chest. He passed it to the younger boy, who sat on the bed and opened it carefully. "Read that then tell me that you want to be my submissive."

Terms of Reference

1. The accepting party shall henceforth be referred to as "The Submissive".

2. This contract and the contents within are meant solely to create the appropriate mindset and are in no way legally binding.

1.0.0 Roles

1.1.0 The Submissive

The Submissive agrees to submit to the Dominant fully and without reservation. The Submissive understands that there is no time or situation in which he can willfully disobey the Dominant, with the exception of 1.0.1. The Submissive understands that upon signing this contract, his body becomes property of the Dominant to use as he sees fit, within the guidelines defined herein, including punishment.

1.1.1 Submissive Rights

1. The Submissive holds the right to refuse any command that may be in violation of any existing laws.

2. The Submissive holds the right to refuse any command that may cause extreme or permanent distress to himself or another.

3. The Submissive holds the right to refuse any command that may cause permanent bodily harm (see 3.0.0).

4. The Submissive holds the right to refuse any command that may affect his job.

5. The Submissive holds the right to a discussion with the Dominant regarding any strong morals that have the potential to be effected.

1.2.0 The Dominant

The Dominant accepts the Submissive as his own fully and without reservation. The Dominant agrees to care for the well-being and safety of the Submissive for as long as he owns him. The Dominant also accepts the responsibility of treating the Submissive fairly, using the Submissive, training the Submissive, and punishing the Submissive.

2.0.0 Punishment

The Submissive agrees to accept any punishment deemed fit by the Dominant, whether earned or not.

2.0.1 Terms of Punishment

Punishment of the Submissive is subject to the terms below to ensure the physical and mental health of the Submissive. The Submissive has the right to discuss these terms and alter or add to them if he sees fit. The terms of Punishment are a set of rules to ensure no lasting damage and no act be misconstrued as abuse. The terms are as follows:

1. No acts including blood play or surgical instruments. If blood is drawn punishment must stop immediately.

2. No breath control or acts resulting in loss of consciousness.

3. No fire play.

4. No act that may result in internal bleeding.

5. No withholding of necessary items such as: water or food, etc.

3.0.0 Permanent Bodily Damage

As the Dominant has accepted the body of the Submissive as his own, he accepts the responsibility of protecting it from any long standing or permanent damage. Should the Submissive be subject to any permanent damage he has the right to terminate this contract immediately. Permanent Bodily Damage is defined as follows:

1. Damage involving the loss of mobility or function, including broken bones.

2. Permanent marks on the skin, including: scars, burns, punctures, or tattoos.

3. Any hair loss.

4. Any disease received at the fault of the Dominant, including sexually transmitted diseases.

5. Death.

4.0.0 Privacy

It is understood by both the Dominant and the Submissive that all evidence of the submission with be kept in complete privacy, unless agreed upon by both parties. Should either party violate this cause, the contract may be terminated immediately.

5.0.0 Other

5.0.1 The Submissive

The Submissive acknowledges his body is no longer his own, therefore he will not engage in any sexual or submissive activity with anyone other than the Dominant, including masturbation.

5.0.2 The Dominant

The Dominant acknowledges the trust of the Submissive, therefore will not loan him to any other Dominant without his consent.

6.0.0 Alteration or Termination of Contract

6.0.1 Alternation of Contract

This contract may not be altered without consent of both parties. Any alterations must be agreed in writing, and signed by both the Dominant and the Submissive.

6.0.2 Termination of Contract

This contract may be terminated by the Submissive if any of the conditions outlined herein are violated. The Dominant retains the right to terminate the contract at any time.

7.0.0 Rules

7.0.1 The Submissive

The Submissive with obey the Dominant in all things without question or hesitation.

7.0.2 The Dominant

The Dominant will not ask the Submissive to violate any of his rights or breach the Terms of Punishment.

The Submissive

Name in print:

Signature:

Date:

The Dominant

Name in print:

Signature:

Date:

Peeta took a moment to take everything he just read in. Cato stood over him expectantly, waiting for him to run for the door or start shouting atrocities at him. He put a long time into putting together that contract and he knew that if Peeta couldn't even stand reading it there was no possible way he would survive as a Submissive.

"What does it mean my body's not my own?" Peeta finally asked. His voice was surprisingly calm.

"As in if you signed that, your body would belong to me," Cato answered.

Peeta chewed on his lip thoughtfully. He thought of his boring life. His lack of commitments and relationships and excitement. Of how this man, the first man to ever show an interest in him, was a strong, controlling, handsome man who had dedicated himself to this lifestyle. Peeta thought about it long and hard. He looked look at Cato curiously. "Say I was capable of doing this, would you want me?" he asked.

Cato scoffed, as if the question were ridiculous. "Of course I would," he replied.

Peeta looked around himself. "Do you keep a pen around here?" he asked.

"Why?" Cato asked cautiously.

"Well I'm going to sign it, aren't I?"

"Peeta, are you sure?" The pen in Cato's back pocket burned like an inferno, begging to be pulled out and used. "It's not a decision to be taken lightly. You can't just decide at the drop of a hat that you want to pursue this lifestyle. That's not how it works."

Peeta raised his eyebrows defiantly. "What? Are you saying I'm not capable?" he challenged.

Cato's eyes widened. "God, no," he contradicted. "I know full well that you're more than capable. I just want you to know that if your name goes on that dotted line, I will not be held responsible if it doesn't turn out how you wished it to."

"I don't wish anything," Peeta answered. "All I know is that I have never met someone like you before, never had someone show interest in me before, and therefore I should not judge the lifestyle you pursue. Besides, how bad could it be?"

"You have no idea." Cato didn't know why he was contradicting this. The thought of controlling the boy before him. His body his property to use how he saw fit. Oh the things he would do to him . . . "I just want you to be sure before you make any snap decisions." Cato glanced to the side of the room and went back to the chest of drawers. He pulled a piece of paper out from the drawer in which he had retrieved the contract. When he returned to Peeta, he handed the paper over.

"What's this?" asked Peeta.

"It's a practice contract," Cato responded. "Be my submissive for six months and see whether you like it or not. And, if you choose not to continue after that period of time, you are free to leave. This will give you a chance to know what this life entails and decide whether you feel you are strong enough to become a full time sub."

Peeta nodded, the action executed with finality. "Okay."

Cato slid his hand into his back pocket, still unconvinced that Peeta would sign, and passed it over it to the younger boy. Peeta pulled the lid off and signed his name in the appropriate places before passing the contract over to Cato. "Your turn," he replied.

"Last chance to back out," Cato warned him.

"Not going to happen," Peeta replied.

And with that, Cato signed off his own name as well. His eyes drifted to the name signed above his own.

_Peeta Mellark._ Never had that name looked so perfect.

When Cato looked back up at Peeta, his eyes were dark but incredibly amused. "Well then Peeta Mellark, welcome to my world."

**A/N: Cliffhanger! Don't worry, we're getting to the sexy stuff next chapter ;) **

**Please R&R and see you next week! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: OMG who saw Mockingjay Part 1 over the weekend? I did and I sobbed SO much afterwards! It was so perfect and so sad at the same time! :'(**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Warnings: Graphic sex. Probably the most graphic I've ever written in my entire life.**

Chapter Four

Having a submissive who had never been a part of the BDSM world before now was strange to Cato. He couldn't go through things like limits and boundaries because Peeta honestly didn't know about any of it. It was a minor setback and Cato knew that the younger boy would grow to learn his limits, especially if he decided to pursue a life in permanent submission in the future.

When he asked Peeta what made him feel safe, he answered with, "Warmth." It had been the first thing to come into his head and Cato informed him that that would serve as their safe word. At least warmth was reasonable. When he asked the question to a previous submissive, he got an answer of machine guns. It served as a pretty okay safe word but was a little odd none the less.

Peeta himself didn't get a proper look into the lifestyle he had now joined until a few days later. Of course, Cato had let himself fall back into his dominant self and every so often he'd grab Peeta possessively if he was going in the wrong direction or causally touch him in ways that may have seemed inappropriate to an outsider but were actually quite muted compared to what he had planned later. Peeta found himself not minding all that much. He did sign the contract, after all, he knew what he had been in for.

Well, he thought he did anyway.

After dinner, four days after Peeta signed Cato's contract, Cato told him to go to the 'playroom'. He'd tossed him the keys and didn't make any further indication as to what he was supposed to do once he was inside. Peeta pushed through the clothes and stood in the middle of the 'playroom', waiting for Cato to arrive. His heart was beating way too fast and he felt like it was going to burst in his chest. He knew what this meant. Everything up until now had been child's play. This was where the real deal began.

When Cato came into the room, he was wearing his game face. The indifferent, placid mask that made Peeta's stomach twist with nerves.

Cato was feeling the same as Peeta. As a Dom, he shouldn't have been nervous, but as previously mentioned he had never done this with an inexperienced player before and he didn't know what the limits would be. However, he was all but obliged to find out. It had killed him to wait ten minutes before joining Peeta in the playroom but he was glad he did. The more anticipation, the greater the reaction.

The young blond stood in the middle of the room, arms hanging loosely by his sides. Cato remembered when he first saw Peeta come into his office. He had seen him in the reflection of the window. A gorgeous face matched with a beautiful body. What more could anyone ask for? Cato was shocked that Peeta was still a virgin. Surely someone would have noticed how handsome he was? No matter. It was kind of nice. He had never fucked a virgin before.

"You have permission to answer questions but do not speak otherwise, understand?" he asked.

"I understand, sir," Peeta responded. Cato liked the 'sir'. It was a nice touch.

Cato folded his arms. "Strip down until you stand before me in your underwear."

He watched the adam's apple in Peeta's throat bob nervously as he gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. The thing that Cato really liked about Peeta was the fact that his body wasn't made up of complete hard muscle. He was soft in some places, like his waist and arms, but was still sturdy enough that you could feel the strength underneath.

Peeta was a little clumsy about getting out of his clothes. He nearly lost his balance twice and fumbled with the button of his jeans. It was amusing to watch but it had nothing on the moments when he peeled the garments off, exposing more and more skin. Cato was practically salivating by the time Peeta was finished, anxiously toeing the clothes away from himself.

Cato could practically see the willpower it took for Peeta to keep his arms by his sides. Insecurity wasn't hard to find, if you knew where you were looking. "You've already told me that you're a virgin but have you ever touched yourself before?" he asked.

Peeta shook his head. "No, sir," he replied.

Oh wow. Cato realized that he was in a position of owning a submissive that never even felt the feeling of even his own hands. The body before him was completely pure and clean. Untouched. Unappreciated. Deprived of the touch of another.

Well, not for long.

"I want you to understand what's going to happen tonight," Cato informed Peeta. The younger boy's blue eyes sparkled, gleaming with interest. Cato took Peeta's chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled his face up toward him. Peeta was forced to push up on his tiptoes, straining to hold eye contact with the man who now owned him. He wobbled a little but gained his footing. "You are going to cum for me and then I am going to take your virginity. Understand?"

Peeta licked his lips, the action driving Cato insane. "Yes, sir," he replied.

"Good."

Cato released Peeta and allowed his eyes to admire the smaller boy's body. His skin was pale as a glass of milk, this only adding to the whole purity image. Three things stood out against the porcelain skin: the brilliant blue of his huge, doe eyes; the soft petals of his perfect lips; and the hard tips of his small, pink nipples. Cato placed his hand on the boy's chest, able to feel his frantic heart underneath his palm. Peeta kept licking his lips nervously, his breathing harsh and shallow.

Cato stroked the boy's pale chest with his hand, remembering the morning when Peeta sat in his kitchen with his robe on and it kept parting at the top. Cato had wished to take Peeta right then, to throw him onto the kitchen table and ravish his body until he came so hard that he saw stars. The only thing holding him back was the common convention that having sex with someone after just meeting them was unethical.

The skin was so smooth, the first word coming into Cato's head being 'satin'. When his hand passed over Peeta's nipples, he heard a shaky intake of breath that made him smirk. Definitely a place to return to later.

Peeta's abdomen wasn't hugely prominent but it was definitely defined. Cato could feel the muscles underneath the skin shift with every breath Peeta took. His hipbones were noticeable but not in an undernourished sense. Cato let his thumbs stroke over the bumps thoughtfully, his fingers itching to be everywhere at once. He let his hand drag along the boy's side as he walked around him to the back. He loved this part as he knew the fear that settled into the sub's consciousness when they didn't know what was going on behind them.

He brushed the blond hairs out of the way of the nape of Peeta's neck sub-consciously while he examined his shoulders and back. They were well muscled and held strength, topped off with a little beauty spot just above the left shoulder blade. For some reason, the blemish made Cato smile and he passed his thumb over it affectionately. Peeta hunched his shoulders a little, unprepared for the sensation of hands on his back. A back which tapered off into what had to be Peeta's best feature.

"Take your underwear off."

Cato could almost hear the gulp and he forced himself to keep his game face. Peeta hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slid his underwear down his legs, trembling a little in fear and excitement. Once the garment was fully discarded, Cato smoothed his hand down Peeta's supple ass, thoughts bombarding his mind as to what it was going to feel like to hammer himself into it. Goose pimples broke out along Peeta's skin and he shivered, his breathing gone past heavy and becoming laboured.

"Turn around."

Peeta did, his eyes meeting Cato's instantly. He stood a couple of inches smaller than him but you know what they say. They make up for the inches somewhere else.

"How big are you?" Cato asked, not looking just yet to prolong the nerves Peeta was jittered with.

"I don't know, sir," Peeta responded.

_Duh, Cato! Why would he ever have a reason to measure himself?_ Okay, well, he'd just have to find out himself now, wouldn't he?

When Cato enclosed his hand around Peeta's cock, the small boy made an alarmed noise trapped between a squeak and a yelp. The trembling increased, the fear mixing with the pleasure until he didn't know which way was up. And Cato hadn't even moved his hand yet. He was just examining what he was holding. It made Peeta feel worried. Like maybe Cato didn't like what he saw.

As if something snapped inside him, Cato grabbed Peeta's wrist-thankfully releasing his manhood in the process-and lead him to the couch that sat against the far wall. Cato couldn't wait anymore, he had to get into action before he drove himself mad. "Sit down and show yourself to me," he ordered.

Peeta looked from the couch to Cato and back to the couch again. "I'm sorry, sir, but what to do you mean?" he asked. He squeaked as Cato's hand came around him again and stroked from base to tip agonizingly slowly. Hot breath caressed his ear as Cato explained in more detail what he wanted off him. Peeta's knees wobbled and he felt a little faint.

"I want you to sit on the couch and spread your legs as far as they will go so I can see what you look like."

Peeta felt a 'why' come up on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it. Why wasn't the question. The question was what was Cato going to think when Peeta did as he was told?

_Don't think about it all that much. Just do it. Quickly. Like ripping off a band aid._

Peeta did just this. He sat down on the soft sofa, the material velvet smooth against his bared skin. Taking one last push of courage, Peeta opened himself up as far as he could go until his muscles groaned in protest. Never had he ever felt more vulnerable. But why should he care about the opinion of one man? The only man to ever show him even a glimmer of interest that was why. And, unlike Peeta, Cato had the ability to end this any time he wanted. Which means if he thought Peeta was a train wreck below the belt then he could terminate everything with a flick of a hand.

Prolonged silence followed. Peeta squeezed his eyes shut, unable to meet Cato's eyes. He didn't like what he saw. Peeta could tell. Cato was going to end this as fast as it had started. He was going to-

Peeta stifled a small yelp when the warm breath that usually brushed his ear caressed the tender skin of his sex. His knees moved to lock together on instinct but were stopped by two strong hands which gripped his thighs and kept them apart. "Peeta, open your eyes and look at me," Cato ordered.

When Peeta opened his eyes, he nearly passed out. Cato was between his legs, his mouth inches away from his penis. A tiny gasp escaped him, which made Cato smirk in delight.

"Tell me Peeta," Cato said, making sure to blow as much hot air on the younger boy's privates with every word, "why hasn't a man of your age ever indulged himself in self pleasure?" It seemed like a reasonable question, since the boy was twenty one and most had their first masturbation experience at sixteen.

"It never came up, sir," Peeta replied through gritted teeth. He was fighting a losing battle against his senses, which were screaming to be attended to. Urgh, Cato had said that he wanted him to cum, why couldn't he just give him the incentive he needed?!

Suddenly the breath was gone completely and Peeta whined pitifully as Cato stood up and walked away from him. "Now you never will," Cato said. "The only person allowed to have their hands on you from now on is me. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." The possessiveness in Cato's tone made Peeta feel even hotter than he already did.

Cato pulled something out of a drawer and came back to where Peeta was sitting. He reached up and grabbed a hook from the ceiling, attaching a pair of cuffs to it. "Hands." Upon instruction, Peeta's wrists flew together and held themselves out to Cato. Appreciating the instant obedience, Cato kissed the top of Peeta's right hand before cuffing them together on the hook so his arms were suspended above his head.

Okay, scratch that. _Now_ he never felt as vulnerable.

Cato resumed his previous position between Peeta's legs, unable to deny how sexy the smaller boy looked with his arms above his head, face flushed, and his cock hard and seeping. Cato himself was impossibly hard as well but he was committed to making his sub experience his first orgasm before anything else.

Trailing his hand down Peeta's left leg, Cato grasped his calf and lifted it up, further exposing Peeta to his eyes. He knew Peeta was struggling to keep up, his breathing quick and his body shaking in anticipation and want. He propped the younger blond's foot against the edge of the sofa cushions, ordering him to hold himself that way until told otherwise. This way, he had easier access to his hole which, undeniably, he couldn't wait to fuck.

However, there was one thing he still had to do first.

Peeta was too late to catch his pleasured gasp as he felt the tongue against his entrance. Cato caught his hips when they jumped in surprise, pushing them back down against the sofa as he slowly licked him from the inside out. Peeta squirmed, unable to stay still, gasping and groaning in ways that were going to be shameful to think about later. He couldn't describe what he was feeling. He was lost in a pleasure-induced haze. The only thoughts clear in his head were, "Oh fuck," and, "_Oooooooooohhhhhhhh_." If Cato wasn't holding his hips down, Peeta was sure they'd be rocking against him, trying to feel his tongue go deeper.

Cato pulled away and grinned evilly when his beautiful sub moaned in displeasure. A thin film of sweat had built up on Peeta's chest and stomach, making his pale skin glisten like diamonds. A part of him wanted to keep eating his sub's delicious ass but there were more pressing things to be getting on with. He pushed his finger inside, trying to get a feel of how tight Peeta was exactly.

Answer? Superbly. Incredibly. Impossibly. Tight.

Peeta could do nothing but stare at the ceiling. He winced a little at the feeling of Cato's digit inside of him and the further he pushed in, the greater the pain. Why was he still turned on? Shouldn't the pain have switched it off? Cato was being incredibly distracting, his nose tracing paths up the lines of his hips and thighs, his spare hand tracing patterns on Peeta's stomach while the other explored his entrance.

Suddenly, the finger inside of him brushed something that sent a power surge through his body. Peeta's hips bucked upward and he yelped in shock. Cato barely glanced up but used the spot to his advantage, massaging the area before adding another finger to do the exact same thing. Peeta couldn't breathe, the abuse of his equivalent of a G-spot slowly pushing him to the edge of the proverbial cliff.

"Sir, er, I-I-I can't"-Peeta struggled to get out the fact that he was going to cum and hoped to God Cato got the message. He moaned loudly, his arms clenching in their restraints as the pressure on his neither regions became unbearable.

Cato got the message. He curled his hand around the boy's weeping member and slowly stroked him to bring him to orgasm. Peeta responded eagerly to the aid and eventually cried out as he released all over his chest and stomach.

Never had Cato ever seen anything so erotic before in his entire life.

When Peeta relaxed a little into the couch cushions, Cato stood up and said, "You're not finished yet, pet."

_Oh lord in merciful heaven, what else?_ Peeta wondered wearily. He separated his elbows and peered through the gap to watch Cato. His eyes widened when the older man began to undress. _Fuck me sideways_, he thought as Cato pulled his shirt over his head to reveal a gloriously strong torso with muscled arms and a defined six pack. Peeta wondered, not for the first time, why Cato bothered himself with him.

When Cato discarded his pants and underwear, Peeta's mouth fell open in horror. How was _that_ going to fit inside of him?! Seeing his reaction, Cato smirked. "Don't worry, it will fit," he assured him, as if able to read his submissive's mind.

It didn't put Peeta at any ease at all.

Cato sat on the couch and tightened the chain that connected to the hook binding Peeta's wrists so that his arms hitched higher above his head. He then pulled the younger boy into his lap so he was straddling him, his beautiful torso stretched because of his bound wrists. Cato was so horny right now it was almost painful and the way Peeta was looking at him with those huge baby blues of his wasn't helping.

Grabbing Peeta's butt in his hands, Cato pulled the boy down on top of his hard length. He couldn't wait to do it bit by bit and just dragged him all the way down. Peeta groaned in presumable pain, his eyes fluttering in upset as he bit his bottom lip and warded away tears. Cato was too distracted to notice, the tight heat clenched around his dick doing nothing to make this encounter as long as he had wanted it to be.

"You need to relax your muscles or it will hurt longer," Cato advised through gritted teeth.

Peeta struggled with it but eventually, a little bit at a time, was able to completely relax himself. And slowly, he began to rock. Back and forth, back and forth. His lip was still between his teeth, getting chewed to death, but the action was so beautifully coy that Cato couldn't bring himself to tell him to stop.

The fingers of his right hand still digging into Peeta's behind, the fingers of his left crawled up his submissive's stomach and chest. When Cato passed his thumb over Peeta's nipple, the younger boy grunted in surprise and accidentally slammed down onto Cato in what he thought was being too hard. Cato groaned and repeated the action, getting the same response that sent shockwaves through his body.

Peeta's arms and legs burned but he was determined to see this through. Whenever a wandering hand touched his nipples, he couldn't contain his reactions, as they were obviously a sensitive area. Could explain why they hurt so much in the winter when it was cold. Every time he nearly got into a steady rhythm, Cato either did something that threw him off or he took control and forced him to go harder, way harder than he thought would be acceptable.

"Who do you belong to?" Cato asked, his voice hissed out through grinding teeth.

"You, sir," Peeta said breathlessly. Cato pinched his nipple and twisted it. He yelped in surprise.

"Say it again."

"You, sir." The thrusts Cato was meeting him with were becoming quick paced and erratic. By this point, Cato was practically doing all the work himself. Peeta moaned every time his owner's cock brushed or pushed into his prostate, his body exhausted but screaming for more.

Cato leaned forward and licked a long trail up Peeta's torso, cutting a path through the residual semen that remained there from the boy's previous orgasm. The desire to do this was unexpected, as if he never put cum in his mouth, even when giving a blowjob. The taste was odd but not in a bad way. Cato had never tasted anything like it before and, from his track record, from what he recalled it wasn't supposed to taste all that nice.

When Peeta was hard again, it having taken some time considering the magnitude of his previous orgasm, Cato took his cock into his hand and stroked him. Peeta whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut tight and unintentionally clenching around Cato, who responded with a hot moan of appreciation. Cato's lips were driven crazy by the taste of Peeta's essence and couldn't get enough of it. So while one hand continuously stroked him, the other was splayed against his back to keep his body close while he licked away the remaining cum on his sub's body.

Peeta was shuddering, his body bombarded with different sensations all at once. His arms were screaming at him to be freed but he didn't want to do it. He just felt too goddamn good. Cato's hands and mouth on his body were driving him mad and he could feel another orgasm rapidly approaching. He rocked against Cato faster, the older man matching every thrust with enthusiasm and vigor.

When it hit him, his muscles tensed up. His body lifted a little when his arms attempted to curl in on themselves and his eyes rolled behind his head, which fell back in relief as he released all over his Master's gorgeous torso. His body then went slack with exhaustion but Cato wasn't finished. The older man gripped Peeta tighter as his own end came racing forward and roughly slammed him down harder until he came inside of him. Peeta squeaked at the feeling of being filled up, already feeling some of it leaking out and dripping down his thighs. He peered at Cato through the space between his arms, blinking past sweat soaked hair to smile feebly at the older man.

Cato smirked, drinking in the sight before him. His beautiful submissive was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving to catch his breath. If it hadn't been the young boy's first ever experience, Cato probably would have kept going for a little while longer. Maybe releasing Peeta's arms and forcing him to sit on his hands and knees on the sofa while he stroked himself to the sight. There was nothing sexier to Cato than consuming the image of one of his subs, exhausted from a good, hard fuck, on their hands and knees before him with his cum leaking out of their ass. Something told him it would be that times a million for Peeta.

But it was Peeta's first time. And he had to respect that.

Cato released Peeta's arms from the cuffs and allowed the younger boy to lie against him on the couch while he got his energy back. Their sweaty bodies stuck together with the addition of Peeta's second release working as an adhesive.

"So, how do you feel?" Cato asked, stroking Peeta's wet hair affectionately.

Peeta could barely find words. "I don't . . . I can't even . . . It was . . . _amazing._"

"Feel any different now that you're not a virgin anymore?" Cato traced the beauty spot on Peeta's back with his fingertips absentmindedly.

"I feel . . ." Peeta chewed his lip thoughtfully. ". . . Filled up," he concluded.

Cato chuckled at the choice of wording. He slid his hand down Peeta's back and dipped his pointer finger into his backside, gathering up some cum that remained there. He pressed his finger to Peeta plump lips, smiling in encouragement when the younger blond glanced at him nervously. "Go on. This is what defines who you belong to now. Might as well have a taste."

Peeta parted his lips and took the finger into his mouth. When the inexperienced tongue swirled around the digit, Cato internally groaned and felt himself getting hard again. Fuck, the things this boy did to him. His mouth was warm and moist, just like his tight ass. The things he planned to do with that pretty little mouth . . .

"Sir?" Peeta asked once his head was settled back against Cato's chest.

"Yes?"

"How did I do?"

Cato nudged Peeta's chin up with his knuckle, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. Those blue orbs held so much depth, Cato could stare at them for hours and still be unable to decipher what exactly went on behind them. "You were perfect," he said, placing a sweet kiss against Peeta's velvet lips. He tasted himself on them and he smirked, proud of the sign of ownership. "Every sub I have had in the past has always called the safe word at least once during their first time. You did exceptionally well, seeing you were able to get all the way through. And manage to keep going after orgasming for the first time."

Peeta's cheeks heated up at the praise. "I didn't feel the need for it, sir." Honestly, the safe word had completely slipped his mind.

Cato grinned and kissed Peeta again. He slipped his tongue into his mouth, almost desperate to feel the heat of him again. Peeta's eyes fluttered and he moaned softly, palms sliding up to rest on Cato's bare chest. "Since you tasted me," Cato murmured as he tapped knee weakening kisses against Peeta's pale neck, "you might as well taste yourself as well." He then ordered Peeta to lick the cum off his body. What? He was being fair!

Peeta slid off Cato and knelt beside him on the sofa. He licked his lips again and Cato almost intercepted, finding it devastatingly hard not to have his mouth against those ripe rosy plums twenty four seven. The worst of it was that Peeta did this sub-consciously; he didn't mean to be so amorous, he just was.

When the silky touch of Peeta's tongue first touched his skin, Cato relaxed into the couch with a sigh and threaded his fingers through the younger blond's satiny locks. He couldn't believe how eager Peeta was to impress him. Maybe it was because he had doubted his ability in the beginning and it made him want to prove himself now that he was given the opportunity. Whichever way, Cato didn't care because frankly, the kid was tough and the kid was sexy. That was all he needed. And, annoyingly, his personality was beautiful as well.

"Tell me how you taste," Cato instructed.

"I'm not sure what it tastes like, sir," Peeta replied.

Well, damn, he didn't know either.

Peeta straightened up once he had finished and drew his knees up to his chest sheepishly. Cato smiled and wrapped his arm around Peeta's shoulders, drawing him closer to his body and allowing him to rest his head in the crook of his neck. There was a smudge of semen stuck at the corner of his mouth and Cato thumbed it away.

"You missed a bit," he teased, sucking it off. The unfamiliar taste fascinated him. It was a mystery to him and when it came to mysteries, he always made it his mission to solve it at the earliest possibility. Peeta flushed in embarrassment and turned his head into Cato's shoulder to hide his face.

"Sorry, sir," Peeta mumbled.

Cato nestled his face in Peeta's hair and rubbed his shoulders with his thumbs. "I like the sir," he said. "What made you decide to call me that?"

Peeta shrugged. "I just liked calling you it," he said. "Uh, sir."

Cato grinned. He loved that answer. "Well, it's what you're to call me from now on," he decided.

"Okay." Peeta smiled into Cato's neck and curled closer to him. "Sir."

"Good boy," Cato praised, lifting Peeta's face and kissing him deeply. Peeta sighed and melted into Cato, unable to deny how much he loved being controlled. Being overpowered and dominated, left completely stripped and vulnerable at Cato's hands. Normality would say that such a thing should be terrifying but, for some reason he couldn't explain, Peeta trusted Cato. Like a huge part of him knew that Cato would never abuse him or misuse the trust he placed in him.

**A/N: See you next Monday! *salutes***


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Goodness, I can't believe it's Monday again!**

**For anyone waiting on an update on Puppet Strings, I'm working on it. I'm slowly pulling down the wall of writer's block brick by brick.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Five

"What exactly would this be defined as?" Peeta sat in Cato's sitting room in nothing but one of his owner's button up shirts and his underwear. After their first encounter in Cato's playroom, Peeta had been ultimately shattered but after he had a shower, Cato insisted that he wear one of his t-shirts. It wasn't as uncomfortable as Peeta had first anticipated and as he sat on the huge couch with his legs on Cato's lap, he never felt as comfortable.

"What exactly would what be defined as?" asked Cato. He was doing some work on his PDA for the next day. Peeta had asked if he wanted him to go home so he could work but Cato had said no. In fact he said that the company would help him work better.

"_This_." Peeta pointed at himself and then at Cato. "Are we in a relationship? Are we not in a relationship? What is this exactly?"

Cato didn't look up from his PDA as he spoke. "You are my submissive. You belong to me. If that counts as a relationship in your eyes then yes, it's a relationship."

"Would you consider it a relationship?" asked Peeta.

Cato seemed to be thinking about it. "I suppose it's a form of a relationship," he concluded. "Whether it leads to emotional compromisation I don't know but I've never had anything emotional with a submissive before. It's all been purely sexual."

Peeta couldn't help thinking about how sad that was. He knew that he didn't just want a sexual relationship, he liked to think that later he would fall in love and get married to someone. But for now, he guessed, he would just have to deal with being in a highly-charged sexual relationship. Who cares anyway? Right now he was young, he might as well enjoy sex before he became too old to have it.

"Out of everyone you could have, why would you want me?" he found himself asking. "My world and your world wouldn't normally collide. I thought you would think I'm . . ."

"Different?" asked Cato.

"Scum," Peeta corrected.

"You're not scum. The Merchants provide us with what we need. If it weren't for you guys, Panem would have flopped by now," Cato said. He finally looked up from his PDA, green eyes practically sparkling. "And just for the record, I don't do this with any random person. I have to be attracted to them first. My Dom lifestyle is to sate myself, not others."

Peeta flushed at the implication that Cato was attracted to him. He was sure that his face had turned pink and he wished that he could take a compliment like a man for once. "Erm, just for the record as well, I don't kiss guys I'm not attracted to either."

Cato grinned devilishly. "You better not," he said. Single handedly working his PDA, Cato used his spare hand to continuously stroke Peeta's bare legs. The younger boy watched with curiosity, amazed and undoubtedly turned on by how possessive Cato was of him. There was just something so hot about someone so sexy feeling possessive over him and wanting ownership over him.

"Cato?"

"Hmm?"

"Why am I not allowed to touch myself?" Peeta asked. "Not that I was planning to but I'm just curious."

"You aren't allowed to touch yourself because it is against my personal rules. I don't want another hand on your cock other than my own," Cato explained with brutal honesty. "The only time you can touch yourself is when you're washing and even that's a stretch on my part."

"But surely it shouldn't matter since it's only my own hands?" Peeta insisted.

"If you masturbate in any shape or form, Peeta Mellark, I'll have to punish you," Cato warned. Peeta shuddered at the use of his full name. "And believe me when I tell you that I am not one for being merciful, even if you are new to the BDSM lifestyle."

"How would you even be able to tell?" asked Peeta.

"Because I'll ask and you'll answer."

"What if I lie?"

"Your cheeks will betray you."

Peeta knew that this was the truth. He reluctantly conceded. Cato smiled and returned to his work, his hand seeming to inch higher and higher until it was practically up Peeta's underwear. The effect this had on Peeta was amazing as he found the touch incredibly soothing. Cato had an extremely dictating character, even when he wasn't trying to be in Dom mode. Peeta simply sat beside him and watched him work.

"Okay, okay, next question," Peeta eventually said. "When do we . . ." He tried to find the right words, not sure what the exact terminology was. "Get busy? Assume roles? Uh . . . _do it_?"

Cato seemed to be trying to keep a straight face but couldn't help chuckling. "It's called creating a scene. Or playing. Or, if you like, just fucking. However I have always found that very blunt and crude, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, I do," said Peeta. "Making a scene? It's not drama classes."

"They are scenes, however. I come up with them all myself," answered Cato.

Peeta frowned. "Sorry, what do you come up with?"

"Everything I do with a submissive," Cato explained. His fingers danced across his PDA so fast they looked like nothing but blurrs whizzing around the keypad. "I come up with everything myself. I try to be as inventive as possible, just to keep it interesting, but it's nice to know that there's always the classics to fall back on."

Peeta was impressed. "So what we did earlier . . . ?"

"I came up with it myself," Cato answered. "I always like the wrists to be restrained because the physical requirement of the body being stretched before me is always such a turn on so that's when I came up with the wrists being chained to the ceiling hook while being fucked. Although, no one has executed it as well as you did."

Peeta blushed. Now that, he didn't believe. "So when-or how often-would we make a scene?"

"Could be in a week's time, could be in half an hour, depends on what mood I'm in," responded Cato.

"But how would I know I'm needed?" asked Peeta.

"Well, I'd like you to stay with me on weekends," said Cato. "And if I ever wish to have you at any time beyond that I'll probably contact you through phone. However, I don't often step outside the parameters of my schedule and probably won't require you over the week as often."

It sounded so formal. Was something as wild and uncontrolled as sex supposed to be so organized? Peeta couldn't help thinking of an on-call doctor who had no idea when they were going to get called into surgery again. "So I'm like a . . . sex puppy?" he thought out loud.

"When you say it like that it sounds bad," Cato grinned.

"Isn't it?"

"Not really. Especially since I will be treating you with the upmost respect and would never dream of treating you like a-what is it-sex puppy?"

Peeta mulled it over for a moment. Finally, he answered Cato with the honest truth. "It depends on when you call me. I look after my mother and staying over with you on weekends is a stretch that I'll only barely be able to complete." He paused, knowing that he didn't owe Cato an explanation towards why he had to care for his mother but feeling like he had to justify it anyway. "She's getting old, you see. My dad died when I was seventeen and my brothers live in Ireland, where our ancestors originate. I'm all she really has. Her neighbour sometimes comes around when I'm not free but I can't just abandon her at the drop of the hat because you send me a message."

Cato was silent. Peeta feared that this would cause the older man to reject him. That it was either devote all his time or none at all. "I know you have a personal life, Peeta," he finally said. "I'm not going to tear you away from things that are important. I'll just have to make up for the lost time when I do get to see you." His nails lightly scraped the skin of Peeta's shin, making him shiver.

Peeta sighed in relief. If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was abandon his mother. She had been heartbroken when Rye and Wheat moved to Ireland to work just because they didn't want to be classed as Merchant anymore. Apparently Ireland was full of jobs and they were able to find something of upper standard. Peeta didn't understand how they could put class before family but then again, he never really was all that close to either of them.

"So your ancestors were Irish?" Cato asked. The cool glow of his PDA lit up his face and Peeta marveled at how the shadows it cast annunciated Cato's gorgeous facial features.

"Yes. My great great grandfather moved here with his wife in the early '70's when the Troubles grew into what then seemed like an unresolvable matter of constant violence. I suppose they didn't want to raise their children in a segregated world," Peeta shrugged. "My generation, however, are the first generation of Mellark's to speak English instead of Irish."

"Really? Why's that?" Even though he wasn't looking at Peeta, the curiosity in his tone was clear and avid.

"My parents wanted us to adapt so they hired an English tutor to teach us when we turned five," Peeta explained. He scratched his head thoughtfully, remembering Mrs. Trinket, who used to visit them every Monday and Thursday to teach them English. "My friend Delly says you can hear my brogue when I'm angry."

"Now that I think about it, when you were shouting at me a couple of days ago about my not wanting to be with you because you were a merchant I could swear I heard some sort of lilt to your voice," Cato said reflectively, pausing his typing to actually consider it.

Peeta blushed. He was never able to spot when he was speaking with his brogue and yet everyone else seemed to. He wasn't even completely sure he knew what it sounded like. Well, he knew what it sounded like on other guys but not himself. He had grown so accustomed to the language and Panem way of speaking. "I try to hide it as well as I can," he said. "Which is surprisingly easy since I have been learning English since I was five."

Cato resumed his typing. "You should do what's easiest for you. I'm not going to judge you. I think you're beautiful either way."

Peeta picked at the button on the cuff of the shirt he was wearing. His small arms drowned in the sleeves that were designed for huge muscles. Cato could see his discomfort and put his PDA down. There was something in the boy's face that hinted at confusion. He didn't seem to understand why all of this was happening to him. Maybe he didn't feel worthy of it? Or he didn't believe he was good enough? Cato turned to face Peeta and tipped his chin up with his knuckle to force him to look him in the eyes.

"You are very beautiful," Cato said slowly. "You do know this, don't you?"

"Hardly," Peeta scoffed, rolling his eyes. Cato lightly slapped his face, instantly amused by the startled expression he got in return.

"Don't disagree with me," Cato warned. "You _are_ beautiful."

"I'm sorry but I just don't see it," Peeta insisted. "Normal maybe. Not . . . not beautiful."

"I'm offended that you believe I would settle for normal," Cato said. His fingers traced the outline of Peeta's lips, the silky skin still damp from the last time they were self-consciously licked.

"I didn't mean"-

"Sssh, I know."

Cato kissed Peeta reverently, his lips never tiring of the taste of youth and innocence. Peeta complied without compliant, leaning forward and sighing into his owner's mouth. The kiss became heated, fast and determined and passionate. Cato was soon on top of the smaller boy completely, devouring his mouth and lips like he would never have the chance to kiss them again. He didn't know where the determination came from but he wasn't prepared to question it. Peeta's was mouth was addictively warm and moist and welcoming.

Peeta's knees slowly parted, as if he were putting careful thought into the action, until Cato's body fit between them like a puzzle sliding into place. He instantly moaned at the contact, his legs quivering as Cato rolled his hips up against his own. They almost wanted to close again, the vulnerability of the position still not sitting well in his mind. However something told him that Cato wouldn't allow this to happen.

"You know, I'm supposed to be working," Cato murmured. His hands slid greedily up the loose shirt Peeta wore, his fingers ravenously exploring every inch of the body underneath.

"I never told you to stop," Peeta breathlessly replied. He loudly moaned as the curious fingers of his owner slowly circled his nipple until the pink flesh hardened in arousal. His hips lifted to rub against Cato shamefully and his body shuddered at the glorious feeling it provided.

"Well maybe if you stopped looking so goddamn sexy I'd be able to get my work done," Cato responded.

"You're the one who wouldn't let me get dressed," Peeta reminded him.

Cato claimed his mouth voraciously, his hand slipping between his pet's shivering thighs until it met the boy's slowly growing member. Peeta groaned, his body sliding down the sofa a little as his knees bunched up on reflex. Dragging his mouth up Peeta's virgin neck, Cato purred into his ear, "Go to my room and wait for me there. I'm going to finish my work and then I'm going to punish you for being so . . . delectable."

Peeta could barely walk, let along bring himself up the stairs to Cato's room. His heart pounding in his chest, he wobbled his way up the stairs and sat on the edge of Cato's bed. He couldn't breathe, he was so worked up. His body was shuddering with excitement, unhappy with the abrupt ending of their kissing. However, Cato did say he was coming back. To punish him. Although he had barely even done anything!

It wouldn't harm him to find out what it was like, though.

~T~

Cato couldn't believe how much this one boy was distracting him. He hardly got any work done, he'd have to play catch up over the week. Peeta wasn't trying to be stimulating, Cato knew this, but whenever he was in the boy's presence, all he really desired was to be between his legs, making him cum over and over again. To screw him so hard he would never forget who he belonged to. Watch him unravel again and again and again until he was nothing but a pile of nerves and laboured breathing.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to do work on his PDA. But even then he needed Peeta close at hand or else he'd lose his mind thinking about him. Cato didn't allow him to get dressed because his jeans did him many favours and getting back into them would not help his distracted train of thought. However, instructing Peeta to wear one of Cato's own shirts didn't help either as he just looked all the more suggestive. Especially with his face so flushed and his long legs draped across Cato's lap.

Cato stared at his PDA screen, trying to get his mind to refocus back onto the task at hand. He knew it was a stupid try as all he could now think of was a hot and heavy Peeta upstairs in his room waiting for him.

_Fuck it._

Cato dumped the PDA and went upstairs. Peeta was waiting for him, sitting on his bed with his knees drew up to his chest. He was still breathless, his body quivering in anticipation. Cato smirked in delight and approached the smaller blond with purpose. Sliding his fingers through the young boy's hair, Cato pulled his head back so he stared at him hovering above him.

Peeta's eyelashes cast shadows across his gorgeous cheek bones and his neck stretched back beautifully, revealing an exposed jugular and vulnerable Adam's apple. Cato planted a strong kiss on Peeta's lips, placing his hand on Peeta's pale chest and slowly guiding him onto his back on the bed. When he pulled away, his sensual submissive whimpered at the loss.

"Hands above your head," Cato ordered, moving to the wardrobe and sliding the door open while he collected a few things. When he returned, he was pleased by the sight of his pet's obedience. Peeta looked a little nervous and every few seconds he tried to pull Cato's shirt down to cover his crotch before reassuming his arm's position on the bed. When Cato approached, he tried to do it again but his master slapped his hand out of the way and put it back above his head. "Don't move."

Cato produced a piece of silk black cloth. Peeta watched with bated breath as the material was smoothed out, tensing his muscles when Cato teasingly dragged it up his leg. "Lift your head," Cato ordered. He slid the material over Peeta's eyes and lowered his head down to rest on the cushions at the head of the bed. "Remember your safe word?"

Peeta nodded.

Cato danced his fingers along the buttons of the shirt he loaned Peeta, purposefully plucking the turgid bumps that pushed against the fabric. A tiny gasp escaped his gorgeous captive as his nipples were teased over the material of his shirt, his body lifting off the bed a little in approval. "Get on your hands and knees."

Peeta scrambled to do this, losing balance a few times because of his disorientated state. He rested on his elbows, head dipped so his chin pressed against his chest. Cato drank in the sight greedily, binding Peeta's wrists and elbows to the headboard so he was completely immobile. After he was sure his prisoner was secure, Cato smoothed his hand along the sleek curve of Peeta's bowed back, crawling underneath to slip the buttons of the shirt out of their holes.

Something told Cato he was never going to tire of pulling back pieces of clothes to bare Peeta's porcelain skin to the harsh conditions of the environment. Peeta's complexion was a gift, as not many people could have skin as pale as his and be able to suit it so well. Cato kissed a trail up the younger boy's back, starting from the nape of his neck and ending at the base of his spine. Peeta's breathing slowed to a calming hush, sated by his lover's touch.

Hooking his fingers into Peeta's waistband, Cato pulled his underpants down his thighs and let them rest at his knees. His cock was hard, stiff with excitement and arousal. Peeta squirmed a little, unhappy at being exposed in such a way. However, Cato found it painfully erotic, especially since the younger boy was bent over in such a submissive position.

Cato teased the cleft of his lover's ass with his finger, smirking deviously when Peeta whined to himself like an unsatisfied puppy. He passed his finger over the smaller blond's puckered entrance once, twice, a third time, enjoying the way he was making Peeta shudder in want. "Does my beautiful little pet know why he's being punished?" Cato asked with authority.

"I-I-I think so, s-s-s-sir," Peeta stammered. He cried out loudly as Cato's hand suddenly came in contact with his ass, the smack causing vibrations to jitter up his body.

"Tell me then." Cato punctuated the point with another smack. He loved the crack of a good smack, especially when it was followed with a tiny whimper of pain.

"I w-was distracting you from working, sir?" Peeta guessed. Another yelp as another smack landed home on his ass, which was beginning to grow pink in colour.

"Exactly." Cato spanked Peeta again, drinking in the way the boy cried out and trembled at his hand. "And what are you going to do to fix it?"

There was a pause while Peeta thought about it. Two encouragement spanks later and Peeta blurted out, "I'll bake cookies in the kitchen while you're working so you won't get distracted, sir!"

Now out of all the possible answers, Cato hadn't expected that one. He almost fell out of character completely, surprised and taken aback by the innocent answer. Normally the response he would have gotten was, 'I'll suck your cock, master,' or 'I'll let you fuck me as hard and as fast as you want, master.' Not cookies. How could someone who panted like a bitch in heat and took cock in his ass like he'd done it hundreds of times before be so pure and sweet? It didn't make sense.

He couldn't break the scene however and had to work with it. "What sort of cookies?" he found himself asking, like a curious five year old enquiring information from their mother. This was certainly something he never thought he'd discuss while in a scene.

"Any cookies you want, sir," Peeta replied, his voice having dropped a couple octaves due to the pleasure he was currently feeling. Cato spanked him again and this time instead of yipping in surprise, Peeta moaned. He seemed to have adjusted to the sensation, his body enjoying the powerful reprimand instead of rejecting it.

Avidly curious, Cato asked, "Is there anything else you bake?"

"Uh-huh," Peeta replied breathlessly. "Y-y-you name it. Cakes. Buns. Past-RIES!" His voice tapered into a squeak at the end when Cato pushed his first finger into his backside. As soon as Cato found his prostate, talking became an amazingly painful task. He couldn't utter a single syllable.

"You'll have to make it without nuts. Unless you want me to die, of course," Cato casually threw in while he massaged Peeta's prostate with his finger. "You wouldn't want me to die now, would you my little pet?" His nut allergy was something he discovered when he was a kid and had grew up with him through the years. Some say you grow out of it but Cato wasn't prepared to test that theory.

Peeta shook his head, gasping like he was underwater and fighting for breath. His knees and elbows quaked underneath him, barely able to support his weight on the bed. The blindfold just added to the delirium as every other sense heightened, including his sense of touch. And every piece of skin on skin contact he experienced with Cato felt like lightening.

"Of course you don't. Because then there wouldn't be anyone to put you in your place, now, would there, you little whore," Cato purred.

The name calling should have hurt but for some reason it caused a spike in Peeta's blood. His arms pulled against the restraints around his wrists and elbows but the knots were too tight to break. In that moment he _felt_ like a whore. Cato's whore. Always Cato's.

"Tell me what you want," Cato demanded, removing his fingers and momentarily replacing them with his tongue. It was only for a second but it was enough to cause Peeta to cry out with astonishment. Cold air was then blew on the wet area, making the restrained boy whimper.

"I-I-I w-w-want"- Peeta struggled to finish the sentence, the words in his head muddled up like they had been throw around by a juggler at the Circus.

"Do you want me to jerk you off?" Cato grasped Peeta's hard length and stroked him from base to tip, making sure to go as agonizingly slow as humanely possible. He grinned when Peeta groaned in answer, nodding his head fervently as if to say, 'Yes!' "Or maybe you want me to rub your balls." Cato did exactly that, cupping each one in his hands and massaging them with his fingers. Instead of answering this time, Peeta purred and his toes curled into the bed in enjoyment.

"Or, of course," Cato finally said, unbuckling his pants and freeing his hard cock from its denim prison. He stood back for a moment and stroked himself, consuming the image of his trembling submissive bent over and bound up, his manhood so aroused it was practically against his stomach, and couldn't help himself any longer. "I could fuck you."

Without giving Peeta any warning, Cato entered him from behind. The younger boy screeched in shock but was able to adjust much quicker than before. He met Cato's erratic thrusts with enthusiasm and desire, every moan he released punctuating his pleasure and ecstasy. Cato was able to fill Peeta until his pelvis met his ass, the snug entrance so hot and moist it made his body practically sing every time he pushed into him.

"Sir," Peeta moaned. "I think I'm gonna cum."

Cato reached around and grabbed Peeta's cock, pressing his thumb against the tip to prevent orgasm. Peeta yelled in frustration before yelping when he ass was smacked. "You will not cum until your master cums first, understand?"

It took a lot of concentration and focus but Peeta managed to hold himself out until Cato found his own orgasm. His master's warm essence filled him again and he sighed in relief as the thumb was removed and he was able to release. Afterward they lay beside each other on the bed, sweaty and exhausted, occasionally stealing a kiss or two.

They fell asleep with Peeta's head nestled in the crook of Cato's neck. Something told him he could get used to things this way.

~T~

"Máthair Tá mé ar ais!" Peeta hung his coat up on the coat hook by the door and quickly rubbed his feet on the mat that said, _"Welcome to our Home!"_ in curly blue cursive. He carefully placed his satchel beside the coat rack and made sure to hide it in case one of his mother's nurses dropped by. Some of them . . . well, let's just say some of them had sticky fingers. "Cá bhfuil tú?"

"Suas anseo i mo sheomra, croí milis!"

Peeta jumped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and entered his mother's room. She lay in bed, tucked in tight, with a cannula in her nose pumping the oxygen that was now wired through her whole home into her body. Her face lit up at the sight of her son and her smile was like the sun itself, shining on the world when it was most needed. "Where . . . you be?" she asked, her English not as strong as Peeta's.

"With a friend," Peeta answered, sitting on the armchair beside her bed and crossing his legs. He winced as his tailbone protested at the pressure of being sat on. Ever since Cato had punished him, his backside had been aching like nothing he had ever experienced before.

"Delly?" his mother asked. Peeta shook his head. "Katniss?"

Again, he shook his head. "No Máthair, a different friend."

His mother grinned, her white as snow teeth perfect as the day they grew in. She never let Peeta or his brothers get away with skipping out on brushing their teeth, even if they were exhausted she'd drag them out of bed. She insisted that they'd thank her when they were older and didn't have false teeth and rotted enamel.

"Male friend?" she asked.

"Yes, Máthair," Peeta smiled. "A male friend."

"Cara buachaill?"

Peeta laughed. "I suppose you could say that."

His mother had never shied away from the fact that he was gay and every time he interacted with a man in any way she asked if they were his boyfriend. Or 'Cara buachaill' as she put it. It was surprising, since Maria Mellark had been raised in a Catholic household. Peeta had expected her to spit in his face when he came out of the closet and was shocked when he was instead met with a warm hug. Then again, his father had been a Protestant and back when they got married it had been frowned upon for those two religions to mix. Still sort of did, really. In Ireland, not Panem. This was one of the many reasons his ancestors left. To this day Peeta didn't know the difference between both the religions. But it seemed that his mother wasn't all too keen on Catholic values anyway, since she disobeyed her parents and ran away with a Protestant.

Maria laughed, her face lighting up even more, if that were possible. "Ah, good!" she exclaimed. "Bravo, mo mhac! It about time you start look for partner."

"Máthair," Peeta groaned, throwing his face into his hands in embarrassment.

"What? I no get any younger!" Maria declared. "I must see my boy happy before I die!"

"Don't talk like that," Peeta said sternly. He took her frail hand into his own and held it as tight as he dared. His mother was all he had left of his family. A part of him knew that his mother did not have much longer left but it was a part of him he refused to acknowledge. When she was gone, he would have nothing left. And he didn't know where he was going to go from there. "You are going to live long beyond your years. You aren't going to die, I forbid it."

"Forbid?" Maria laughed. "Alright mo mhac, it forbade." She cupped his cheek and smiled affectionately. Peeta remembered when she used to gather him and his brothers into a huge group hug, smothering them with all the love she had to give. And she had a_ lot_ to give.

"Heeelllooo?" A voice floated in from downstairs. "Peeta? Maria? Anyone home?"

"Up here Katniss!" Peeta called.

Katniss appeared in Maria's room moments later. Ever since she and Peeta went out with each other, she has frequented Maria's home like a resident. Maria and Katniss always got along well and it wasn't too hard to tell that Maria had been disappointed when they broke up. "Ah, Katniss!" Maria happily declared. "How are you?"

"Good, Maria, you?" Katniss asked, moving to the ottoman at the end of the bed and perching on the edge like a bird prepared to take flight.

"Grand," Maria smiled.

"What are you talking about?" asked Katniss.

"Peeta forbades my death," Maria said.

Katniss laughed. "Oh really now?"

"No death talk in this house!" Peeta exclaimed, fearful that they would jinx his mother's life.

"Do you forbid it?" Katniss grinned.

"Yes, I do!"

Katniss laughed again and shook her head, amused by his distress. Crossing one leg over the other, she turned to Peeta and asked, "Where have you been?"

"What do you mean where have I been?" Peeta asked back.

"Peeta, I haven't seen you since I left The Hob at the beginning of the week. I called Delly and she had no idea either," Katniss explained. "Have you been here? With Maria?"

"No, Katniss, you no understand," Maria intercepted. "Peeta find Cara buachaill."

"Máthair"-

"Cata buachaill? What's that?" asked Katniss.

"Male . . . friend," Maria beamed.

Katniss looked at Peeta with raised eyebrows. "When was this? Did you meet him at The Hob? Was it when I left? Was that were you've been for the past few days?" Questions streamed out of her mouth like a tidal wave, one after another after another. Peeta only caught the first four before the rest blurred together into an incomprehensible mush. He answered as best he could.

"Um, it was at the beginning of the week. No not at The Hob nor was it when you left and yes, that's where I've been for the past few days," Peeta answered.

"What's his name, would we know him?" asked Katniss. Peeta felt both Katniss and his mother's eyes trained on him, entirely interested in what his responses were going to be.

Peeta didn't know whether under the Privacy sector of the Contract if he was allowed to tell anyone if Cato was his boyfriend. He knew that he had to keep their Dominant-Submissive lifestyle secret but did that mean he had to pretend that he wasn't allowed to express that they were in any sort of relationship at all? He decided to play it safe.

"No, I don't think so," Peeta said.

"Are you just saying that so that we won't pick him out of a crowd and embarrass you to him?" Katniss grinned.

"Maybe I am maybe I'm not," Peeta vaguely replied. He squirmed in his seat, leaning forward a little to ease the pressure on his rear end. Every time the pain settled in his lower back, which happened every time he walked or sat down, Cato's name popped into his head. Something told Peeta that this was Cato's aim all along.

"Mo mhac, you sit funny, are you okay?" Maria asked, gripping Peeta's hand tight in her own.

"I'm fine, Máthair," Peeta said, trying to sound reassuring to put his mother's mind at ease.

"It's your ass, isn't it?" Katniss smirked. "Has somebody been gettin' busy?"

Peeta's eyes widened in horror. "Katniss, not in front of my mother!"

"Psh, Maria and I talk about boys and sex all the time, don't we Mrs. M?" said Katniss.

"Oh yes," Maria agreed, her eyes glinting in amusement. "We talk 'bout boys and sex. We play 'would you rather' and exchange stories!" Peeta stared at his mother, utterly mortified. If he had known that that was what they had been getting up to while he had been baking in the kitchen he'd have never left them alone! Maria looked at her son with concern. "Peeta, do you need me to give money for protection?"

"Oh God, no!" Peeta exclaimed, his face burning in embarrassment and horror. In truth, he had never thought about protection. But one of the terms of the Contract was that STDs counted as permanent bodily damage which was forbidden. Peeta guessed that Cato inserted that to protect himself, which must mean that he was clean himself. And Peeta had never engaged in sex until Cato so the odds of him having contracted anything were low.

"Delly owes me ten quid," Katniss said, almost to herself. "She bet you were a top. Well, I say she bet you were a top, I called bottom before she had a chance to."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Peeta said. "Why in the world would you talk about things like that? And why would you bet on it as well?"

Katniss shrugged. "Dunno. We were bored."

"I no take part in gambling," Maria said. "Not my thing."

"We're just pulling your leg, Peet," Katniss grinned. "It's great that you've found someone, it really is. But if he hurts you, you tell me and I'll put him in his place." She punched her hand with her fist and winced when she put too much force into it. "Ow."

"He no hurt my Peeta," Maria said, shaking her head. She reached out and touched Peeta's cheek with her fingertips. "My Peeta worth all the love in the world."

Peeta cupped her hand in his own, feeling the heat of his mother's blood heat his face up. "Go raibh maith agat, Máthair."

His mother beamed at him, more proud of her son than anything else on God's earth. "Tá fáilte romhat beag Peeta," she smiled.

"You two gotta stop that, my heart hurts," Katniss chuckled, playfully punching her chest over her heart. "And as well as that, I have no idea what you're saying. All I got was 'mother' and 'Peeta'. I understand that foreign languages are beautiful and all that, especially those of a Gaelic nature, but it doesn't mean it's comprehensible."

"Bí 'do thost cailleach," Maria replied. Peeta snickered. For his mother's standards, calling Katniss a witch was her equivalent of swearing.

"Wait, what?" Katniss asked. "What?" She looked at Peeta. "What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta said, exchanging an amused look with his mother.

"Something tells me you're lying, Mellark," Katniss said, squinting at him in annoyance.

"He no lie. Do not worry Katniss," Maria smiled. She patted Peeta's cheek fondly and he knew in that moment that keeping what went on between him and Cato a secret was the best thing to do. Her fragile heart was too weak to handle information of that magnitude. Katniss was better off not knowing as well, as her big mouth could blurt it out to the first person she met if she was in the right mindset.

Peeta knew his secret life was better off staying just that. A secret.

**A/N: I'm just going to put it out there: I'm a sucker for foreign!Peeta. I don't care, I think he's sexy ^_^**

**Translations (forgive me if they're wrong, no translator is 100% and I'm a little rusty on it myself):**

_**Máthair Tá mé ar ais: Mother I'm home!**_

_**Cá bhfuil tú?: Where are you?**_

_**Suas anseo i mo sheomra, croí milis: I'm up in the bedroom.**_

_**Cara buachaill: Boyfriend.**_

_**mo mhac: my son.**_

_**Go raibh maith agat: I love you.**_

_**Tá fáilte romhat beag: I love you too.**_

_**Bí 'do thost cailleach: Shut up you witch.**_

_**Máthair: Mother**_

**See you next week! ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It's MONDAY! Hahahaha! Oh man, guys, I've been sick ever since Thursday. Thankfully I have a few pre-written chapters and I have enough written for before my Christmas hiatus which will begin on Tuesday the 16****th**** of December probably till after New Year's :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. I apologize for any typos that I missed due to my sickness :D**

Chapter Six

Peeta sat in the waiting room to Cato's office patiently, his foot propped up on the edge of the cushion and his chin pressed to his knee. It was a Wednesday afternoon, a time he wasn't obliged to spend with Cato, but he had actually been sent to the Capitol Building again by Abernathy to extend the paper's gratitude for Cato's generous giving of time. His satchel sat beside him, the strap across his chest like a leather stripe.

"Mr. Hadley will see you now," Cato's PA (Peeta learned his name was Marvel) suddenly said, surprising Peeta out of his dream like state.

Peeta stood up and smiled at Marvel in thanks before entering Cato's office. He wondered whether Marvel was able to see through him, able to tell that he was his boss' Submissive; his whore; his sex toy. As irrational as the fear seemed, it felt all too real in Peeta's eyes. He wasn't fond of the idea of Cato's PA knowing what they got up to. But then again he was just being paranoid, Marvel probably knew nothing.

As soon as he stepped into Cato's office and the door was shut behind him, Peeta stood on a loose lace and stumbled. He was unable to gain his balance and landed on his hands and knees on Cato's carpet. His cheeks flamed in complete mortification and he prayed that Cato didn't see. However, when he looked up and peered over the back of the couch in which he had landed behind, Cato sat at his desk, eyebrow quirked in amusement and mouth curled in that sexy smirk of his.

"Getting started without me?" Cato teased.

Peeta scoffed and stood up, adjusting his satchel strap so the bag itself rested comfortably on his hip. "I need new sneakers," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Either that or you need to learn how to tie your shoelaces properly," Cato corrected.

Peeta stuffed the loose lace into the side of his green converse and weaved around the couch to stand between it and the coffee table. When he met Cato's eyes, the seductive dark green made his backside twinge in pain, a reminder of his place in the relationship. Cato gave Peeta a once over. He did this painfully slowly and this alone made Peeta's body react unfairly. The hair at the back of his neck stood up and his nipples twinged, just like his ass had done. God, how could one mad have such an effect on him?

"Uh, I've been, um, sent by Mr. Abernathy to extend our thanks from one cooperation to another for using some of your time to provide us with an interview," Peeta said, taking his words directly from what Haymitch told him to say. "We know you are a very busy man and cannot express enough how much we appreciate your generosity to District News." Peeta scratched the back of his head. "And, uh, yeah."

"You sound very professional, Peeta Mellark," Cato said, leaning back in his seat and threading his fingers together on his stomach.

"We didn't think you expected any less," Peeta replied.

"How's your ass holding out?"

"Hurts like a bitch but the pain is fading."

Cato grinned. "Been thinking of me?"

"Every time I sit down, sir," Peeta said. For some reason he couldn't explain, he knew when to say 'sir' and when they were just in casual circumstances. It just came naturally to him.

This answer definitely pleased Cato. "Good to hear," he said. "How's your mother?"

"Good, sir," Peeta replied. "She practically lives in her bedroom now but as long as she's okay then I am too. Katniss is with her right now, probably forcing the latest tabloids down her throat."

"Katniss? As in your ex Katniss?" Cato frowned.

"Yeah, her and my mother got along so well when we were dating that they still keep in touch now. I thought it would be weird but it's actually not," Peeta explained. "Katniss is a good friend. I couldn't ask for much more."

"So you're best friends with your ex?" Cato said slowly.

"Yes, sir," Peeta replied. "I know it probably sounds strange but we parted on such good terms that we're still good friends. Katniss didn't blame me for being who I am. In fact, she welcomed it. She claimed that she preferred it over my avoiding her advances because I thought she was ugly. Which she isn't. She's a very attractive girl. Any guy would be lucky to have her."

Cato tapped the end of his pen against the side of his desk. There was something Peeta couldn't read in his eyes, something he didn't recognize. "Do sit down, you're making me feel on edge," Cato muttered. Peeta sat down on the couch, pulling his satchel up and letting it rest beside him on the cushions. It tilted heavily to the side, the contents unbalancing it.

"I can't help but feeling like there's something wrong," Peeta said. "Oh, ah, sir."

"I'm just trying to wrap my head around a few things," Cato responded. Without any more elaboration, he changed the subject. "Do you have anywhere to be?" he asked.

"No," Peeta replied. "Not anywhere important, anyway. Why?" He suddenly worried that Cato was going to want them to create a scene here, in his office, in a public building. Despite his pledge of obedience, Peeta considered putting 'public sex' in the limits Cato had discussed with him. He wasn't prepared to do it in an area where someone could easily walk in and catch them.

Cato saw the panic in the younger boy's eyes and sighed. "Is it hard for you to believe that I just wish to enjoy the pleasure of your company?" he asked.

Peeta shrugged, feeling a little foolish for immediately jumping to the worst-case-scenario. "I don't know. I always thought I was boring."

"Why do you think your friends like you then?"

"Uh, well, Katniss is my ex and Delly and I have been friends since pre-k," Peeta answered. His pre-k years didn't contain the best of memories. Since he didn't learn English until he was five, he spent an entire year in pre-k having no idea what was going on. Delly was in his second year of the preschool (he had to spend two years in preschool because he was born in July) and was the only one who spoke to him. Thankfully he knew a couple of phrases by then and was even able to teach her a couple of Irish phrases.

"No-one else?" asked Cato.

"My time is usually divided between work and caring for my mother," Peeta said. "I have small intervals like weekends where I am free but there isn't much opportunity to meet anyone new."

"Don't you get lonely? You don't seem to have any male figures in your life," Cato frowned.

"I don't need any," Peeta said. When Cato raised his eyebrows, he backtracked. "Apart from you, ah, sir."

Cato, pleased with Peeta's correction, threw his pen onto his desk and crossed his ankles. "I want to get to know you better, Peeta Mellark," he said. "I'm not a moron, I know you've been holding back things." Peeta's eyebrows drew together in confusion. What did Cato mean? "We'll start easy, what part of Ireland are your ancestors from?"

"County Antrim, sir," Peeta answered. "It's in the North. They don't normally speak Irish there but they were from the country, not the city." What did his ancestors have to do with anything?

"Have you ever been to Ireland?"

"No, sir. I haven't had the money."

Cato smiled to himself, as if remembering something. "I have. It's a beautiful country."

"Uh-huh. If you don't mind my asking, how is this relevant?" Peeta asked.

"They're just questions. I'm being curious," Cato answered.

Peeta chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Don't you know what curiosity did to the cat, sir?"

"It killed it, I'm aware," said Cato. "But the walls that you have built around yourself are killing _me_."

"I haven't built anything. I'm an open book. Please feel free to read me," Peeta replied. He wasn't sure what Cato believed he was hiding, but whatever it was, he sure as hell couldn't find it either. "Twenty one years of pure, unadulterated monotony."

Cato quirked an eyebrow. He seemed to have this idea that Peeta was pretending that his life was boring to hide some big secret. Peeta didn't know how he was supposed to express to his owner that he really was being honest. Nothing interesting ever happened to him, it was like a rule or something.

"Everyone has an extraordinary tale to tell," Cato finally said. "They just don't know how to tell it right." Peeta was about to answer when Cato's phone buzzed. Cato jabbed his finger down on the red button and the speaker fizzled to life. "What is it, Marvel?"

"_Miss. Rapture is here with the progress reports," _Marvel's voice came through saying.

Cato sighed heavily. "Better let her in then."

Peeta only wondered for ten seconds why Cato was so reluctant as this was the time it took for Miss. Rapture to enter the room and make her way into his perpetual vision. She had long, blonde hair that swirled down her back in a waterfall of curls, big brown eyes and a well-rounded face. She wore a dress shirt that was too small for her and a tight pencil skirt that ended above her knees. The worst thing, however, was her chest. It was _huge._ When she walked, it seemed to be that she was thrusting it out even more, as if her breasts weren't big enough.

When Peeta glanced back at Cato, after staring in shock at the skimpy Barbie, he was surprised to find that the older man was still staring at him instead of her. "Thank you, Miss. Rapture," he said as she put the papers on his desk.

"What have I told you, Mr. Hadley, call me Glimmer!" Miss. Rapture purred, further pushing her chest out. For God's sake, any more of that and she was going to unbalance herself and fall.

"I prefer the professional terms if you don't mind, Miss Rapture," Cato replied, rolling his eyes at Peeta as if to say, _'Kill. Me. Now.'_

"Whatever you say, Mr. Hadley," Glimmer giggled before disappearing off to do whatever her job in Capitol Industries was. Something told Peeta that she was a secretary. His eyes skittered from the door in which he watched her exit from to Cato, who was smirking in amusement.

"Four grand she wasted on those puppies," Cato explained. "Didn't do her a damn thing if you ask me."

"Well, maybe it's because we're gay . . ." Peeta trailed off, a shudder jittering his body as the image of the fake breasts returned to his head. "Maybe we don't have the capacity to appreciate big . . . er, _assets_, like straight people do. I dunno, maybe it's a 'bigger the better' sort of thing?" What exactly was the attraction in boobs anyway? If there was anything that Peeta wanted to know, it was to find out why straight men/lesbian women loved boobs so much. They just seemed like fat sacks to him.

"She's been trying to capture my attention for a year and a half now," Cato said. "I would fire her but she's not in my department. Lesson of the day Peeta Mellark: having tits shoved into your face every day is like hell on earth, especially when you don't have any way of getting her to stop it. Denying her only spurs her on. She'll be after you next, wait you see. Anything with legs is what she's after."

This knowledge alarmed Peeta greatly. "Maybe you could stab your pen into her chest and see if you can pop the implants?" he suggested.

Cato laughed. "That sounds feasible."

Peeta smiled and folded his bottom lip into his mouth to chew on it. He had a habit of doing this, he couldn't stop himself, no matter how much his mother told him to stop. His eyes, which were once focused on the coffee table, lifted at the undeniable burning sensation that came with being stared at by Cato.

"Do you try to be seductive or is it just habitual?" Cato asked, leaning forward so his hands rested on his desk.

Peeta released his lip slowly as he thought about it, to give himself some time to come up with an answer. Cato's eyes darkened, the idea that Peeta had no idea what he looked like being amazingly arousing. "Pass?" Peeta finally settled with saying.

"You make it extremely hard for me to be civil," Cato said. "If you do things like coyly chewing on your lip; fluttering those gorgeous golden lashes; even just sitting there for fuck's sake, you make it very, _very_ hard for me not to eat you alive."

"I doubt I'd taste nice, sir," Peeta said, ignoring his frantic heartbeat that had heightened considerably in the past few minutes of conversation.

"You taste delicious," Cato corrected.

"When did you"-Peeta paused as he realized what Cato had been referring to-"oh. Yeah." Really, he should have seen it coming. He had basically set himself up for it without even realizing.

Cato grinned wolfishly. "Do you think it would be at all inappropriate if I went over there and made out with you for a bit? Because, well, I'm probably going to do it anyway."

Peeta flushed, his blood turning to hot liquid in his veins. "What if someone comes in, sir?"

"They have to go to Marvel first and he'll buzz the phone." Cato was already getting up and making his way to the couch, already having decided where this was going to end up.

"W-What about Marvel himself, sir?" Peeta asked.

"Marvel has been my PA for five years. He knows to buzz and ask permission before entering my office." Cato sat beside Peeta, his body's proximity making Peeta feel a little flustered. His nerves tweaked again, his body's way of whimpering in expectancy. It was like he was drawn to Cato. That Cato was the light in the dark who everyone drifted towards subconsciously. "Why? Are you nervous?"

"N-nervous? Me?" Peeta tried to laugh it off but failed miserably. He sagged a little in annoyance. "Yes. A bit. I've never made out in a public area before. Never made out anywhere, really, other than your house, sir."

Cato took Peeta's chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing the younger boy towards him until their lips were inches apart. Peeta held his breath, frightened and excited. "That's the cute thing about virginity. Most people lose it once the dick has been stuck into them but there are those very, very select few who continue to obtain the virgin innocence long after that. I've never met anyone like that, until now."

"I'm not innocent!" Peeta yelped when Cato tugged his hair hard for his disobedience. "Sorry, sir."

"You are innocent, don't take it like an insult," Cato purred, brushing his lips sensually over Peeta's. "It's a compliment. In these modern times, purity is so hard to find. Even in youth. People as young as thirteen are having sex and going out drinking."

"I was too focused on my studies at that age, sir," Peeta replied.

"What did you study?"

"At thirteen I studied most of the compulsory subjects but I moved on to do an art, H.E and double award science GSCE."

"No college?"

"No, sir. That was when my father died and I became my mother's carer."

"I see." Suddenly overwhelmed by his desire to kiss the boy in front of him until he was unable to think of anything else other than how much he deserved to feel good, Cato closed the distance between them and connected their lips. Peeta was a good person, he deserved to be happy. He was kind and caring and worked hard, seemingly without much praise. Cato didn't want this to go unnoticed, he wanted to show his little pet just how deserving he was.

As the celibate young boy that Peeta was, he had trouble containing the noises that escaped him. Cato thought they were cute but he knew that Peeta probably didn't like it. As much as Cato wanted to continue listening to his little pet moaning like a baby animal while he thoroughly examined his tonsils for him, he couldn't risk it being heard. Cato pulled back and gently pressed his hand over Peeta's mouth. His lips were wet with saliva and his big blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Sssh," Cato hushed, pressing his finger to his lips. Peeta flushed, embarrassment written all over his features. "Don't want Marvel hearing now, do we? He may have to ask permission to enter but I can't help what he hears going on behind the doors."

"I'm sorry," Peeta muttered, his breath hot against Cato's palm. "Sir."

Cato loosened the tie around his neck and wrapped it around Peeta's mouth, wedging it between his teeth and tying it off at the back of his neck. Now that his volume was taken care of, Cato pulled Peeta back to him and started kissing his neck. Of course, the boy still moaned but the sound was muffled and quiet.

"Of course, don't let this discourage you in the future," Cato said between kisses. He laid Peeta down on the couch and crawled on top of him. His lips were driven wild by the taste of Peeta's skin, and the little noises that were trodden down because of the piece of material between his lips. "If I don't gag you like this, please take it as a go-ahead to be as vocal as you want."

Peeta whined with a small voice, his body arching upward into Cato's torso as the older man sucked on the sensitive piece of skin between his neck and collar bone. He didn't know what to do with his hands and when he tried to touch Cato, his wrists were grabbed and pinned behind his back, held together in one of Cato's hands. He felt flustered and hot all over. Peeta was completely consumed in a haze of pleasure, a thin veil of disorientation covering his senses and making him forget that they were in Cato's office.

"I can't wait for Friday night so I can ruin you," Cato purred, his lips tracing a path along Peeta's collarbones. Peeta held his breath and released it in uncoordinated gasps. "Still so much purity left, so much innocence just waiting to be dirtied."

Peeta stretched his neck, silently begging Cato to keep going. His body was reacting in a way he still didn't understand, since only minutes ago he had been worried because he didn't think he would be able to get into it in a public place. Now here he was, hands behind his back, neck stretching and cock hard as a rock. Was this how his libido was going to work from now on? Say one thing then be proven wrong by Cato?

Cato sat up, pulling Peeta onto his lap as he went, and laid down on the other side of the couch so Peeta was now on top. His lips hadn't taken a break from mercilessly attacking Peeta's neck, the younger boy so worked up that didn't know where he was even looking anymore. Cato grabbed his ass and squeezed, his chuckle vibrating against Peeta's throat when he yelped behind the tie. Peeta quickly adjusted to the feeling of being groped so thoroughly and was soon moaning, his eyes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

_Buzzzzzzzzzzzz_

Peeta screeched in surprise at the abrupt sound, jumping out of Cato's lap and falling off the sofa. He groaned in pain, taking a moment in lie on his side and dwell in his awkwardness.

"Come in, Marvel!" Cato called loudly.

Peeta tried to look at Cato in alarm but couldn't because his master still had a hold of his wrists, holding them behind his back so he was forced to sit on his knees on the floor. Heart pounding in his chest like forceful thunder, Peeta bit his lip and forced himself to sit still and keep quiet as he heard the office door open.

"Mr. Hadley, Ms. Morrison called to inform you that she wishes to push her meeting up to four o'clock instead of five," Marvel said, his voice clipped and professional.

"Thank you, Marvel," Cato said.

The door shut again, the conversation having no need to be dragged on. Peeta sighed in relief, having feared that they had been about to be caught. "Mho?" he mumbled, voice muffled behind the fabric of the tie.

"It seems that we must part ways, for now," Cato sighed, sounding deeply disappointed. He stood up, using the hold he had on Peeta's wrists to pull him up with him. "However, don't think I won't make up for it on Friday."

Peeta didn't need to think that. He knew Cato wouldn't.

Cato removed the tie around Peeta's mouth and kissed his ear. "Feel free to leave when you wish. I understand if you wish to stay a little while after I've left to . . ." Peeta's eyes closed in longing when Cato's teeth scraped his earlobe. "Settle down."

It took Peeta exactly fifteen minutes to 'settle down'. Even then it felt like he was being obvious when he left, his face still having the undeniable sensation of burning. Still, Marvel didn't seem to notice. Or did he and was just pretending he didn't? You know what, let's not go down that road.

He failed to realize that his satchel remained in Cato's office, having fallen off during their making out. He had left it behind.

**A/N: So, now I must pose the question: what do you think is so important about Peeta's satchel? We won't be hearing of it for the next few chapters but what do you guys think is inside it? I'm intrigued to hear what you think.**

**Please review with your thoughts! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Monday again! I can't believe how fast time is flying! My Christmas hiatus starts tomorrow and I'm going to be working on a Christmas one-shot that I'm hoping to get finished before the end of the week :)**

**Warning: MAJOR SUMT! Smut that involves nipple clamping, bondage, blowjobs and dildo use. Phew! They certainly get busy in this chapter ;)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter Seven

Peeta found Cato's door open on Friday night. Surprised and nervous, he pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it firmly behind him. The house seemed deserted. He didn't know what to do. Where was Cato? He called his name a couple of times but got no response. Okay, this was getting weird. Peeta mounted the stairs, wondering if maybe Cato was in the bathroom or his bedroom. Nope, both where empty. Peeta stood by Cato's bed scratching his head in confusion. He knew he was supposed to do something but he didn't know what it was. He had never been very good at solving puzzles, especially ones where there was no incentive what-so-ever.

However, it did not take him long to notice that the wardrobe door was open a crack. Peeta spun on his heel and opened the door the full way, stepping inside and beginning the journey through the wall of clothes to get to Cato's playroom. Again, the door was open. Peeta felt a little foolish that he hadn't figured this out in the first place.

Cato was waiting for him. He looked all business. Standing erect with his arms crossed in front of his chest and that powerful look in his eyes. Peeta's throat dried up and he struggled to speak, instead opting for the option of keeping quiet. He smiled weakly and gestured at the door in a way that said, _"Heh, I got it right eventually."_

Cato didn't give him an answer to this. He didn't need to. It only took him two strides to reach Peeta and as soon as he was face to face with the smaller boy, he swept him up into a powerful kiss. Peeta melted, thankful that he hadn't done something wrong. His body pressed into Cato's and he gladly opened his mouth upon request. It had only been a minute and he was already quivering. Wasn't that sort of thing supposed to stop once he had had sex a few times?

Peeta felt his temperature rise and he moaned softly into Cato's mouth as his master's hands impatiently tugged at his clothes. He soon stood before Cato naked as the day he was born, embarrassment lost in a wave of other dominating feelings such as lust and desire.

"You're going to be a very good boy tonight, aren't you?" Cato asked, sliding a hand down the curve of Peeta's back and cupping one of his beautifully shaped ass cheeks. Cato watched his pet nod in agreement. Peeta's skin was flushed pink, his lips wet and swollen. He looked up at Cato with wondrous blue eyes, the pupils already blowing up a little in arousal. Damn, he looked hot. "I expect you to be strictly obedient, so much so that you cannot say 'no' to me, understand?"

Peeta's eyebrows furrowed but he nodded all the same. "Yes, sir."

"Do you remember your safe word?"

"Uh, warmth, sir?" Peeta replied. His breathing hitched when Cato squeezed his ass cheek in approval, his body leaning further into the older man, if that were possible.

"May I cuff you, Peeta?" Cato asked, his voice weirdly sweet.

"Um, yes?" Peeta answered, unsure why Cato was asking him this. Was it a test?

Cato proceeded to cuff his wrists together, using a chain to connect them to the ceiling. Peeta glanced upwards at his bound wrists, swallowing hard at how helpless he now was. Cato purposed another question, further confusing his restrained sub, "I am going to blindfold you now, okay?"

"Yes," Peeta replied. Oh yeah! He wasn't allowed to say no. That's what the questioning was all about. To see if he knew how to follow instructions! Okay, all of a sudden, this didn't seem too bad.

Cato slid the blindfold over Peeta's eyes, reluctant to smother the strength of the baby blues but ultimately knowing it would evoke the best reactions from his little pet. Wasting no time, Cato went to his sub's weak spot: his nipples. During their first encounter, he had noticed that they seemed to be Peeta's most sensitive area and, upon further teasing, he decided that he wanted to build a scene around them. He had never done nipple play before, since none of his previous subs had been all that sensitive there. A lot of men weren't. So Cato was greatly interested in how this would turn out.

Cato began by rubbing Peeta's pectoral muscles in a massaging motion, allowing his pet some time to uncoil and relax. Peeta breathed slowly, his skin still tinted pink but his ability to consume oxygen not as laboured. Cato captured both of his pet's velvet nipples between his fingers, grinning to himself hungrily when Peeta gasped in surprise. "Does your body belong to me, Peeta Mellark?" Cato asked.

"Yes," Peeta said breathlessly.

Cato slowly rolled the rosy buds, not asking another question for a while and allowing Peeta to believe that he was mulling something over. Peeta groaned in arousal, his head tipping back in pleasure. "Am I allowed your sweet ass whenever I want it?"

Peeta nodded rapidly. "Yes."

Cato leaned down and pressed a kiss against Peeta's left nipple. The pink tip was hard beneath his lips and he resisted the urge to suck just yet. Peeta's toes curled into the carpet and he whimpered, confused by how good this felt. "Are your nipples hard for me, Peeta?" Cato purred.

Breath escaping in a gasp, Peeta answered, "Yes!"

Cato wrapped his lips around the left nipple, taking his time to swirl his tongue around the turgid peak and suckle on the pebbled tip. The reaction this caused was amazing. Peeta groaned loudly, his hips jerking forward a little as if shocked by an electric pulse. "Do you like having your nipples suckled?" Cato asked with amusement.

"Yes!" Peeta moaned. He yelled in pleasure when Cato resumed his actions, only this time paying some attention to the neglected nipple on the other side of his chest, rubbing it between his fingers and occasionally plucking the turgid flesh.

When both nipples were satisfyingly hard, Cato asked, "Your nipples look like they baldy want to be clamped. Would you like your nipples clamped, my pet?"

"Yes," Peeta answered before he had really considered the question. He had gotten into a rhythm and barely heard Cato when he had spoken. However, he got what he deserved for not listening when the metal clamps clipped onto his vulnerable nipples. Peeta screeched in surprise, lightning bolts surging through his body in waves.

Cato stepped back for a moment and admired his pet as he squirmed on the spot. The metal clamps relentlessly pinched Peeta's abused tips, causing the boy to gasp like a fish out of water. It was clear, however, that Peeta was enjoying it. If his hard cock was anything to go by anyway.

Allowing the clamps to do their work, Cato paced around Peeta like a Spector at an art show, standing just close enough that Peeta was aware of his moving presence. The young boy squirmed and sipped air through his swollen lips, the muscles in his arms tensed in preparation for whatever sweet torture was to come next.

"Would you like me to touch you?" Cato asked, his voice condescending and teasing.

Peeta nodded before gathering his wits to answer sentiently. "Yes." A sharp gasp erupted from him as Cato spread his ass cheeks and teased his entrance before fleetingly stepping back again. Frustration sparked inside of him and he groaned in displeasure.

"Sorry, did you want me to keep going?" Peeta could feel Cato's smirk burning into the back of his head and he forced himself to swallow any cutting remark that he may have snapped out in response.

"Yes."

"What? This?" This time Cato pushed his finger inside. Without any warning and unprepared for such an action, Peeta cried out in shock and almost cummed himself right there on the spot. It took a great deal of will power to hold back and his teeth were practically crumbling away as he ground them together in a struggle to keep himself grounded. Again, just as fast as it had been there, Cato removed his finger and left Peeta sweating and trembling in shock.

"Yes," Peeta managed to grind out.

Cato looped his arms around Peeta's body, his palms greedily smoothing over the pale planes of the smaller boy's abs. Peeta's knees knocked together nervously, his trembling having taken on an impressive side of violence. He wasn't afraid, the pleasure he was feeling was weakening his system to the point where he believed he was going to lose his footing soon.

A ragged gasp leapt from Peeta's throat when Cato took one of the nipple clamps and tugged gently on it so the abused bud was forced to tug as well. "I think these need tightened, don't you?" Cato breathed in Peeta's ear, the hot air being responsible for a shiver that slithered down Peeta's spine.

Swallowing hard and remembering the rule, Peeta whispered, "Yes."

Cato tightened the clamps slowly, barely allowing Peeta to adjust to the new force of pressure. He couldn't contain his smirk as the younger boy whined in what could only be discerned as pleasure and practically fell backwards against him as his knees gave out for a moment. Cato helped Peeta regain his footing (it was either that or wait until his arms popped out of their sockets) and gave his ass a reprimanding slap.

"Tell me again, Peeta, who do you belong to?" Cato never tired of asking Peeta this question, as the answer was like music to his ears.

"You," Peeta replied, his voice breathy and heavy with arousal.

Cato pressed himself against Peeta's back, allowing the boy to feel his hard on pressed against his backside. He slipped his hand up the boy's chest and held onto his throat, not too hard so he wasn't choking him but hard enough so that his head was titled towards the ceiling. Then, with his spare hand, Cato proceeded to take Peeta's stiff cock and pump him slowly from base to tip. The strain this put on Peeta made his knees weaken again, however this time he did not fall. Peeta moaned, unable to help himself from expressing his approval.

"Your body belongs to me, doesn't it?" Cato said, his voice firm.

"Yes," Peeta gasped. Cato stroked him again, much faster this time. Peeta's body practically sang in approval.

"I will do with it what I want, won't I?"

"Yes."

"You're my little pet, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You're a whore as well, aren't you?"

Peeta almost couldn't believe himself when he nodded frantically. "Oh yes," he purred, his mind lost in the euphoria caused by Cato's hand stroking his manhood.

"But you're _my_ whore, understand?" Cato demanded possessively.

"Yes." Peeta was perfectly content and comfortable admitting all of this out loud. In fact, admitting that he was Cato's whore even turned him on. The name calling made him feel hot under the collar and he almost wanted to be insulted further. The questioning process went on for quite a bit and Peeta was almost proud of himself for being able to hold in an orgasm for so long. However, it wasn't long before he slipped up. It was because the question threw him off guard and he accidentally answered honestly before thinking about the rules Cato had put in place.

"You're beautiful, aren't you?"

"No."

It was simple as that. Peeta realized his mistake immediately but didn't know how to fix it. He couldn't say yes now, it was too late, besides, he didn't believe it. Why would Cato ask him that anyway? Did he run out of sexual questions or something? Or was that just a question he asked all his subs when torturing them?

Immediately, the sweet touches stopped. Cato stepped away from Peeta, pleased that he had been finally able to get him to slip up. The restrained boy whined, missing the feeling of Cato's hands on his body already. Cato unhooked Peeta's wrists from the ceiling and led him to the bed. Hands still cuffed together, he pushed the boy onto the mattress and said, "Present your ass to me."

Peeta pushed himself up onto his knees, his body shuddering as he realized what was about to come. His blood heated up in excitement and his heart raced, no longer remorseful that he had made a mistake. Cato spanked him for his mistake. Peeta moaned in appreciation of every strike, eventually begging Cato for forgiveness when his skin grew too tender. It didn't take him long to realize that being spanked wasn't the whole punishment. It was only the beginning.

"Turn onto your back and lift your legs in the air," Cato demanded.

Peeta flipped awkwardly onto his back, his backside whimpering in pain as it came in contact with the mattress, and obediently lifted his legs into the air. Cato just stood there for a while, admiring the naked form of his pet in such a submissive position. He then climbed onto the bed and chained Peeta's ankles to the ceiling, knowing full well that no one would be able to hold their legs in their air on their own for more than five minutes, tops.

Cato retrieved a dildo from his drawer of toys and lubed the tip up. "You've been a very bad boy, Peeta," he said, "now you must learn what it costs to disobey me."

Peeta shuddered in longing. He wanted this, desperately.

"Do you want me to punish you?" Cato asked.

"Yes!" Peeta replied, aware that the hard tip pressing against his entrance was not Cato's but a toy instead. When it pushed in, he mewled in pleasure, his hips lifting off the bed in approval when it brushed his sweet spot. However, when no thrusting occurred, confusion flushed through him like a tidal wave.

Fingers traced his lips and Peeta jerked in shock.

"Such pretty lips," Cato mused, teasing the plump contours of Peeta's lips with his fingertips. Wait, if he was up here then what was down . . . ? Peeta parted his lips to sip in a lungful of air and his master used the opportunity to slip his fingers inside. "And such a warm mouth." Unsure of what else to do, Peeta closed his lips around Cato's digit and sucked on it like a lollipop.

A moan rumbled in Cato's chest and he stroked Peeta's tongue when it tentatively inched closer to swirl around his fingers. Peeta was in heaven. Albeit a weird heaven but heaven none-the-less. His body was singing with desire, the dildo up his ass making him feel fulfilled. He knew he was pushing Cato by sucking on his fingers but he couldn't help it. He was past the point of rational thought and was acting on autopilot, doing the first thing that came into his head.

"So many possibilities to punish such a lovely mouth with," Cato said seductively, unclipping one of the nipple clamps, since they had been on for such a long time, and rubbing the flame red peak to soften it out a little. He repeated the action with the other nipple, listening to Peeta's heavy breathing as the relief of being freed of the torturous clamps flooded him. It was a shame they couldn't stay on longer. "Would you like to know your punishment?"

Peeta could only nod, since Cato's fingers where still in his mouth.

"You're going to please your owner by sucking his cock," Cato purred.

Peeta swallowed hard. He had never given a blowjob before, what if he did it wrong? He watched apprehensively as Cato unzipped his jeans and let his straining member burst free. The idea of the magnificent member entering his mouth made Peeta groan, his back bowing as the dildo rubbed his sweet spot again.

Cato pressed his tip against Peeta's lips and the smaller boy parted them obediently, taking the whole length into his mouth without complaint. He didn't have a gag reflex, either that or he just wasn't feeling it yet. Cato moaned, the moist warmth of Peeta's mouth around his cock feeling unbelievable.

Unsure, Peeta tentatively ran his tongue along Cato's length. His owner moaned again, his fingers sliding into Peeta's blond curls in approval. Peeta took this as encouragement and did it again, licking the soft skin of Cato's cock like it were a lollipop. Cato began to thrust into his mouth, the action making Peeta's mind whirl as he basked in the feeling of being marked. He shifted his upper body a little, the action making the dildo press into him again. He moaned around Cato's manhood and the vibrations caused the older man to groan and fist Peeta's hair tight.

Peeta had gotten into a rhythm by now. He was enjoying having his mouth fucked by Cato. Giving a blowjob had always been something he didn't think he'd like doing but the possessive way that Cato claimed his mouth made his cock twitch and his body restless.

Something clicked and his wrists fell apart. Peeta frowned. "Grab the dildo and fuck yourself with it," Cato grunted. "I want to see you unravel."

Peeta was taken aback. What was he supposed to do? How could he . . . ? He blindly reached between his legs and grabbed the toy with a sweaty hand. Peeta gently pulled it out and pushed back in. It pressed against his prostate and he mewled in pleasure, his back arching like a cat as ecstasy seized his being.

Thankfully Cato was doing most of the work on his own by now in regards to his own pleasure as Peeta struggled to do both at once. Cato stared at his pet intensely. Legs in the air, back arched, perfect lips wrapped around his dick, Cato was again amazed by how this one boy affected him so much. He wanted to fuck him blind yet get to know him as well. These conflicting feelings where something he had never felt before.

Peeta came with a cry, his body going limp as his semen coated his body. Now that he had been satisfied, the younger boy focused his attention more finely on Cato, tightening his lips around his cock and sucking harder than before. Cato was on a collision course with cumming and he just managed to pull out before his pleasure exploded in the form of milky white cum. Some of it splattered Peeta's face and chest, the sight having to be one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen.

He was saying that a lot recently, it seemed.

"Did you enjoy being punished, Peeta?" Cato asked, not letting the boy see him having to sit down on the sofa in exhaustion.

"Yes," Peeta answered, not needing to heed the rule to answer this.

"And what did you learn from it?"

"Never disobey you. Always follow instructions."

Cato smiled. "Good boy. You can pull the fake cock out of your ass, if you want."

Peeta shivered as he slid the toy out of himself and blindly tossed it to the side. "May I be released, sir?" he asked meekly.

"No, I think I'll leave you like this for a while," answered Cato. He sat back and smirked when Peeta groaned, the muscles in his legs beginning to strain delightfully. "I'll let you down if you admit, out loud, that you were wrong when you said you weren't beautiful."

"Sir, I don't think I can"-

"Of course, I could just take a nap and leave you like this to ponder over your decisions," Cato interrupted.

A pause.

"Warmth."

Cato blinked, surprised. "What?"

"You heard me: warmth. I'm not doing it," Peeta said.

Cato couldn't believe that Peeta would rather call the safe word than admit out loud that he was beautiful. Unable to deny him the right to be freed, Cato unchained Peeta's ankles from the ceiling and tugged the blindfold away from his eyes. Peeta blinked to adjust to the sudden light and sat up, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

Cato sat beside Peeta on the bed. "So, are you going to tell me why you can handle all of what I just put you through but will call the safe word when asked to admit that you're beautiful?"

"I just don't do that," Peeta said. "I'm don't have any inclination towards lying to myself. I appreciate that you find me attractive, Cato, but don't expect me to accept this in any shape or form."

Cato found this odd. However he didn't push the point. He had six months to discover why Peeta was so coy about his appearance. For now, there were more pressing matters to be attending to. He leaned forward and sealed their lips together. Peeta sighed into his mouth and closed his eyes. They lay down at the same time, ready to lose themselves in each other all over again.

~T~

As soon as Peeta's eyes took in the name of the store, his stomach bottomed out in fear. He spun on his heel with every intention of walking in the opposite direction, but bumped into Cato who had been standing over shoulder like the grim reaper. Placing his strong hands on the smaller boy's shoulders, Cato turned Peeta around and steered him towards the store's entrance.

"Is this really necessary?" Peeta demanded, trying to dig his heels into the unforgiving concrete of the shopping mall's floor. "I've already got so many of my own, I don't need any more."

"Yours are unflattering," Cato stated. "Trust me, I'm doing you a favour."

Cato walked around Peeta and took his wrist, leading him into the store by hand. Peeta wanted to shrink away or melt into a puddle as he followed Cato, wishing he could stride as confidently as his owner did. "I don't need designer underwear, Cato," Peeta hissed, trying not to meet the gaze of any of the store's other customers. "Seriously, I don't need you to buy me stuff."

"This is for my benefit, not yours. I'm sick of looking at those baggy boxers you wear and thinking of the wasted potential," Cato said, weaving around the various stands. It seemed they were heading to the very back of the store.

"Wasted potential of what? The Calvin Klein underpants line?" Peeta frowned.

"No, of your ass," Cato deadpanned. "A backside like yours shouldn't be hidden by baggy boxers. It should be accented, displayed, complimented."

Peeta's cheeks flamed as they came to a stop at the very back, where the changing room curtains lay. "I don't see how it matters since you're going to be the only one who sees it," he pointed out sheepishly. The back of the store displayed the male equivalent to lingerie in the form of backless briefs and silky, almost transparent shorts.

"What size are you anyway?" Cato said, thoughtfully stroking the silky material of a pair of shorts.

"I'm not wearing those," Peeta replied.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "You will if I tell you too."

"But there's no point in them!" Peeta protested. "You can see right through them!"

"Maybe I want to see right through them," Cato answered, his voice low. "Maybe I want to be able to see your sexy ass whenever you're around the house while I work. Maybe I want to be able to see what's mine. Besides, you'll like the material, it will feel like a silk pillow cupping your cock and balls."

Peeta flushed. He looked around fearfully, worrying that the other customers could hear Cato speaking so openly.

"Will you relax?" Cato chuckled. "I'm the master of secrecy, do you think I'd be talking like this if I thought we were in any danger of being found out?"

"I suppose not," Peeta answered. "But can you please stop talking like that? You're making me nervous."

Amused, Cato asked in a seductive voice, "Do I make you nervous often, Peeta Mellark?"

Peeta reluctantly shrugged. "A little."

Cato smirked. "Good."

"You get off on that don't you? The nerves and the anxiety?" Peeta asked, folding his arms in hope to make himself smaller. Places like this . . . he didn't fit into places like this. He wasn't rich or well-off. He couldn't afford the sorts of things they sold here, that's why he'd never step in a designer store in a million years. He wouldn't even dare think about it. It was like the restaurant all over again. People were looking, they had to be. Wondering what Merchant trash was doing wandering around a store like this one.

Cato studied him with curious eyes. "Not when you're nervous for the wrong reasons," he answered. "You know, I learned a long time ago that if you worry about what other people think of you then you'll never live the life you want to." Peeta looked at him with a confused frown, unable to understand why they were having such a philosophical conversation in a store selling designer underwear.

"But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You've had nothing to worry about," Peeta answered.

"Having nothing to worry about and being worried are completely different things," Cato replied. He slid a pair of the shorts off the rack and pressed the garment into Peeta's hand. "Stop worrying about everyone else and focus on yourself. That's an order."

"I'm still not wearing this," Peeta said.

Cato smirked. "The way I see it, you have two options: 1) wear the underwear and ultimately accept that I will always find a way to exploit your sexiness whether you like it or not or 2) suffer the consequences."

"What are the consequences?" Peeta challenged.

Cato's eyes seemed to almost light up in delight at being asked. "I haven't decided yet but whichever way I chose it will involve you tied up, bent over, hard and completely at my mercy."

Peeta narrowed his eyes skeptically. He knew Cato wasn't lying, there was enough evidence of that, but could he really bear wearing something so . . . provocative? He almost couldn't handle being out in public in skinny jeans or even glancing at himself in the mirror when he was in his underwear. How could he possibly wear . . . wear . . . _that?_

"I couldn't pull it off," he meekly replied.

"You haven't tried," Cato reminded him.

Peeta rolled his eyes but knew that Cato wasn't going to give in. He groaned and threw the curtain to one of the changing rooms back, storming into it and pulling it back around so Cato couldn't see the underwear until he did. While in the changing room, he held the shorts up to the light. Damn, they were practically transparent!

Peeta toed his shoes off and kicked them into the corner of the cubicle. He tugged his jeans down and glanced forlornly at his reliable baggy boxers. He could practically hear Cato picking more and more lingerie off the racks, as if this were going to turn into an 80's movie where he came out in different types of racy knickers until Cato decided that he liked one of them and gave him a cheesy double handed thumbs up.

Or Cato just decided to get them all.

Peeta's heart skipped a beat at the thought.

The shorts _did_ feel nice against his skin, Peeta reluctantly admitted to himself as he pulled them up. "Isn't there like a hygiene policy where you aren't supposed to try on the underwear?" he called out to Cato.

"Hardly matters, since we're going to be buying them anyway," Cato called back.

Peeta poked his head out of the curtain. "Then what am I trying them on for?!"

"Well, you charged into the cubicle before I could say anything and besides, it wouldn't do you any harm to get a feel for what you'll be wearing for the foreseeable future," Cato said.

Peeta scowled unhappily. "You might as well come in and see what you think then," he muttered bitterly, stepping away from the curtain to let Cato in. Cato happily joined him, confirming Peeta's suspicions by carrying an armful of other forms of underwear that didn't look practical in the slightest. "I don't see the use in any of this. Isn't the whole point of this arrangement that most of the time we're together there will be no need for underwear?"

Cato chuckled. "The way you put it, it sounds like slavery. I'm not planning on fucking you senseless 24/7. For one thing, it's extremely unethical. For another, I don't think you'd have the stamina for it. Besides, am I fucking you now?"

Peeta clenched his jaw and re-folded his arms. "I suppose not," he said.

"And what day is it?"

"Saturday."

"If your statement were true, would we even have time for activities such as shopping if our arrangement were how you so boldly described?" asked Cato.

Peeta reluctantly conceded. "I guess not."

"Look, I know you're still trying to get to grips with all of this-really, I do-but one of the first things-maybe one of the most important things-you need to remember is that you are not a sex puppet or puppy or slave. You're my submissive. The thin between slave and submissive is thick and widely spaced. A slave has no rights, you have many. A slave has no say, you have your safe word. I could go on but I feel you've gotten the idea."

"You supposed right," Peeta muttered. Trying to move away from the topic of slaves, he stepped back and put his hands on his hips. "So, what do you think?"

Cato also stepped back and examined Peeta's small frame with a critic's eye, lingering particularly on the young boy's package, which the skimpy underwear lovingly hugged. "Perfect," he concluded. "However, they may be a little too distracting. Especially since you'll most likely be wearing them when I'm trying to work

"Why don't you just have me round when you don't have to work then?" Peeta asked, sheepishly tugging the shorts back off. "Then you wouldn't have anything to worry about."

Cato moved closer to Peeta, caging him against the wall. Peeta held his breath, the smooth plastic of the wall cold against his bare skin. He met Cato's eyes and chewed anxiously on his lip, wondering what had caused the sudden change of character. "Because then I'd only have you for one day a week," Cato explained. He leaned forward and captured Peeta's bottom lip with his own, tugging it out from between his teeth and chewing on it himself. Peeta's eyes fluttered and a soft moan slipped out, the sound thankfully tame and quiet. "And that simply won't do."

Cato stepped back and smirked at Peeta, who was flushed and leaning against the wall for support. No matter how much he tried to hide it by hurriedly pulling his boxers back on, Cato had seen how his cock had gotten semi-hard during the fleeting interaction.

"You sort yourself out and I'll go pay for these," Cato said. He slapped Peeta's ass playfully before leaving him to his devices in the cubicle.

Peeta touched his face, which was burning like hot coals. He was growing accustomed to Cato's ways but the question still remained of whether he'd be willing to stay once the six months were up. He still had a lot of thinking to do.

**A/N: I noticed that when I posted my schedule at the end of the most recent chapter of Puppet Strings I wrote 'November' instead of 'December' for my Christmas hiatus. I'm sure you guys knew what I mean though, since I've been posting throughout November and December :-)**

**Please R&R with your thoughts!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Ah, it's good to be back. And with a long chapter to boot! Let's hope my rush of creativity doesn't get stomped during exam season ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Warnings: Graphic sex (you guys get the idea by now, right?), rough sex, sexual relations in unconventional places, etc. Okay, the warnings are getting tiring by now and I'm sure you're sick of reading me rhyming off the same stuff, so if there's something new that crops up, I'll let you know, would that be better?**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter Eight

Peeta rushed around the kitchen, unable to deny how at home he felt. Baking was his second nature and the more often he baked, the more comfortable he was. Well, sort of. The fact that he was baking in nothing but an oversized purple button up shirt and transparent shorts that might as well have been invisible was kind of off-putting.

"Didn't we agree that you'd be working while I was baking?" Peeta asked while rigorously stirring some cookie dough in a bowl.

Cato, who sat at the marble islet in the middle of the room, shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a fast worker when I want to be."

"You're making me nervous." Cato's gaze burned into Peeta like a fire and it was difficult to shake off.

"Better get used to it," Cato responded. "We're only at week two. Getting oggled is the least of your worries."

"Somehow, I think that's true." Peeta checked the oven temperature before slipping the first batch of cookies inside. He knew instantly that Cato would be staring at his ass when he bent down to do this but he tried not to think about it. "But unless you want burned chocolate chip cookies, I'd suggest you cut it out."

"Suggestion"- Cato pulled a face, pretending to think about it-"denied." He grinned cheekily when Peeta rolled his eyes in displeasure. "How about this? If you allow me to oggle you as much as I like, I'll reward you tonight."

"Reward?" Peeta's voice held incredulity. He poured the current mix onto a flour coated spot on the islet beside Cato and started rolling it out. "I thought the sex was the reward."

Cato chuckled, amused by Peeta's naivety. "No. The sex is an essential when there is no option left other than for me to plough you into the ground."

"You're very good with words, have I ever told you that?" Peeta asked sarcastically. Cato picked some flour out of the open bag and flicked it at Peeta so it caught on his hair and cheeks. "Okay, I deserved that," said Peeta, batting away the particles that still hung in the air. "Tell me, then, what's a 'reward'?"

"A reward is when there is nothing asked of you other than to lie back, enjoy yourself and remember not to hold back any hot moans you feel about to pass through your sweet lips," Cato took pleasure in explaining.

"That's all?" Peeta asked, his face flushed. Everything he had done so far had required something off him. Answer questions. Answer questions while being tied up and spanked. Don't make a sound. Say yes, give Cato a blowjob and fuck himself with a toy. Not that Peeta minded, he just couldn't imagine not doing _anything_ at all. What was he going to do? Just . . . lie there?

Cato grinned. "That's all." He stood up and walked around the islet to be behind Peeta. He looped his strong arms around the smaller boy's waist and tugged his slim body up against the wall of muscle he called his own. Peeta's breath caught in surprise, especially when he felt his owner's hard on against his ass. He shocked himself, however, when he melted against Cato and simply continued rolling out dough.

Cato kissed his ear and nipped insistently at the shell and lobe. Peeta tilted his head a little and hummed in approval. "Since the cookies are baking, do you mind if I take an early lunch?" Cato breathed into Peeta's ear, his hot breath making Peeta shudder.

"Sure, go for it," Peeta answered.

Peeta yelped in shock when Cato lifted him off his feet and placed him ontop of a non-flour coated part of the islet. Cato was instantly on him like a predator, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing his skin like it was going out of fashion. "Cato, what are you doing?"

Cato pinched his nipple hard, causing his face to flame in embarrassment and pain. "It's sir, remember your place." He claimed Peeta's lips and caressed them possessively with his tongue. Peeta moaned, still confused as to what was going on.

When Cato ripped his mouth away and began devouring his neck, Peeta risked asking again, "Sir, what are you doing?"

Cato squeezed Peeta's thighs and purred, "Isn't it obvious?" In one expert move he flipped Peeta around onto his stomach. The marble was cold against Peeta's stomach and nipples and he couldn't contain his cry of surprise. "I'm having an early lunch."

"What?"

Cato proceeded to pull the silly lingerie shorts off of Peeta and tugged his body closer so his legs hung over the edge. Peeta was thankful that the islet was not tall as he did not wish to be humiliated by his feet not reaching the floor. He felt Cato's hands on the bare skin of his exposed bottom and still didn't understand what exactly was going on until the very last second.

When Cato buried his fact in his ass and started eating him out.

"Oh!" Peeta gasped, his blood already rushing away from his head. He squirmed feebly against the islet but only succeeded in spreading his legs out further. "Oh god, sir, please don't stop!"

Cato was far from stopping. His tongue had to be charmed or something because the magic he could do with it was inhuman. "Tell me how it feels," he pulled away to order before continuing his actions.

"It feels . . . it feels . . ." What would the right word be? Cato egged Peeta long by squeezing his butt cheeks and pulling them farther apart for more access. Peeta moaned and blurted out the first word that came to mind. "It feels glorious, sir!"

Cato was pleased with this response. He stopped and smirked devilishly when his pet groaned, unsatisfied. He pushed a finger into Peeta's ass and watched as the younger boy groaned in pleasure and shuddered in want. The tip of his finger found the small moist bump that always coaxed the best reactions out of Peeta and he massaged it vehemently. Cato's eyes greedily took in the writhing form of his pet, whose hands scrabbled against the unforgiving marble of the islet and whose back muscles shifted under his skin as he squirmed in the most beautiful way.

"Oh, sir, harder," Peeta begged.

Cato slapped Peeta's ass, a cruel smirk curling onto his face when Peeta cried out in surprise. "What's the magic word?" he teased, pushing his finger against Peeta's prostate until he whined.

"P-please," Peeta stuttered.

"Good boy." Cato reached underneath his pet and rubbed his balls, making sure both got an equal amount of attention, before taking hold of Peeta's cock and rubbing him sensually. Peeta's pants echoed in the kitchen as Cato fucked him with his fingers, his body almost physically unable to handle all the pleasure he was feeling. Peeta pushed up on his tiptoes without realizing and was rocking his hips back onto Cato's fingers, the feeling of both being fingered and jerked off at the same time amazingly overwhelming.

"Next time I fuck you, I'm going to uncover the mirror that's installed on the playroom ceiling," Cato purred, "because I think it's an absolute sin that you can't see how positively delicious you look when you're being fucked."

Peeta moaned. Not at the idea of having to look at himself while Cato fucked him, but for the strong tone Cato used to _tell_ not_ ask_ him what was going to happen. "Oh God, sir, I think I'm going to cum!" Peeta cried out, suddenly worried about the hygiene of Cato's kitchen. Undeterred, Cato rubbed Peeta that little bit harder. He caressed the tip of his pet's penis and thursted his fingers in and out of his backside with more vigor. Peeta gasped for breath and writhed against the islet, his body amazingly in sync with Cato's actions. "Aaargh, sir, I c-can't hold on!"

"Just a little longer," Cato replied, being purposely difficult and pressing his thumb over the tip of Peeta's cock to prevent orgasm.

The frustration inside of Peeta built up to the point where he couldn't control himself and before he understood what was happening, he was shouting at Cato in Irish. Well, less shouting, more . . . moaning under his breath. This happened sometimes. When he dated Katniss she used to like it when he murmured some of his native language under his breath while they made out. He and his mother used to also scream at each other in Irish when they were really annoyed with each other, which wasn't any different for Maria but weird for Peeta. It seemed he couldn't control what came out of his mouth when he was strongly angry, sad, aroused or frustrated. And right now, he was extremely frustrated.

Intrigued, Cato asked, "What are you saying?"

Peeta shook his head and pressed the side of his sweaty face against the cool marble of the islet. He panted hard and softly moaned as Cato continued to abuse his body. "You don't want to know, sir."

Cato pressed his finger against Peeta's prostate so a shockwave went through his body, his thumb still pressed against the tip of his cock to prevent orgasm. Peeta groaned and swore under his breath. "As your owner I demand you tell me what you said," Cato ordered.

"I was just saying stuff," Peeta quickly replied. "Like swearing and stuff, sir."

Cato smirked. "Is there an Irish word for 'bitch'?" he asked.

"Yes sir. Bitseach," said Peeta. He felt Cato's soft lips against his shoulder blades and he sighed at the comforting feeling. "Why?"

"You're my little bitseach, Peeta," Cato murmured against his skin. If he didn't have a hand around his cock and fingers up his ass, and wasn't completely and utterly turned on in that moment, Peeta would have probably laughed at how Cato mis-pronounced the Irish word for bitch. However, right now all he could think about was how hot it was to hear his home language in Cato's voice.

"Yes, sir," Peeta moaned back. The tension in his neither regions was almost unbearable and he begged, "Please let me cum, sir, I can't take much more!"

Peeta almost cried with joy when Cato graciously removed his thumb. "There you go, my pet," Cato said affectionately, kissing a wet trail up the line of Peeta's spine as he released his essence all over the kitchen counter. He took Peeta's hand and helped him stand up, smiling when Peeta winced once he was fully erect again. "I have to say, that has to be one of the best lunches I've ever had."

"One of?" Peeta chuckled weakly. He looked at the mess they had made on the counter and turned his nose up in distaste. He was surprised when his stomach growled and he became suddenly aware of the fact that he was painfully starving. "God, I'm hungry."

Cato laughed and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I kind of am too. Seems like eating ass is like scoffing sweets: it tastes wonderful but does nothing in terms of sustainability."

Peeta smiled, a pink flush creeping up on his face. "Yeah, I guess," he said. Cato quirked an interested eyebrow. "Not that I'd know. I'm just agreeing with what you said because you're always right." He busied himself by scooping his underwear up and quickly pulling them on. "Is there anything in particular you'd like for lunch? Proper lunch, I mean?" The silk of the underpants could not prevent the tender twinge the material caused when it brushed against his now sensitive cock.

"What do you think I am, a pig?" Cato laughed. He took Peeta's arm and made him sit at the islet (carefully, so that he didn't hurt him). "I literally just forced you over the kitchen counter, I can't expect you to cook. Besides, I make a mean lasagna."

Peeta watched Cato in surprise as he wiped the islet down and put the rolled out dough aside. "I've never had lasagna before," he said thoughtfully.

"Are you kidding?" Cato asked. "Oh my God, I have to fix this immediately." He spun on his heel and started unloading ingredients from the cupboards. "How can you have never eaten lasagna before? It's-it's appalling!"

"It's just something I've never thought about before," said Peeta. "I don't eat out often so I've never had it made by someone else and when I cook at home it's mainly stews and pies . . . My mother would have made things like Sunday lunches when I was a kid. She loved cooking potatoes."

"Didn't that get boring?" asked Cato.

"Oh no. My Máthair makes the best potatoes. Her chicken dinners are to die for," Peeta explained, that automatic smile that always fell upon his face when he thought of his mother making an appearance. "She hasn't cooked a meal of her own in years but I can remember what it had been like when my entire family would gather at the table on a Sunday afternoon to eat a meal together. The kitchen always smelled of either fresh baked bread or cinnamon because since she didn't work, she spent most of her time baking."

"You speak so fondly of your mother, it's really nice," said Cato. He had this remarkable talent where he could multi-task and still be able to listen to every word that came out of Peeta's mouth. He had some meat frying on a pan and was now chopping some onions up and Peeta was amazed at how he was able to keep up with everything. He struggled with sorting icing and making dough at the same time.

"She's my world, how else should I talk about her?" Peeta inquired.

"It's sweet," Cato smiled.

Peeta pulled the rolled out dough towards himself and used the cookie cutter to cut out some shapes into it before it hardened and was ruined. Cato pulled the other cookies out of the oven and placed them on a cooling rack to cool down. Peeta was thankful, he'd completely forgotten about them. "What about your mother? Did she cook?"

There was a pause where Cato just stood and stirred the meat in the pan. Peeta waited, having expected that he was only trying to think of what to say. "My parents actually died when I was a baby," he finally said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Peeta replied.

"No, it's fine. There isn't much to miss if you never knew them," said Cato.

"Who raised you, if you don't mind me asking?" Peeta asked.

"I was raised in an Orphanage," Cato answered.

"No family?" asked Peeta.

"Nope." Cato said this with so much ease and without much conviction. Peeta would have thought that not having any family to speak of was upsetting but Cato didn't seem to mind at all. Noticing the shift in the air, Cato said, "I don't worry over things that aren't important and, in my eyes, family has never been a priority."

"But every . . . everyone needs a family," Peeta frowned.

Cato smiled and reached across the islet to touch Peeta's face. "You don't need to worry about me, Peeta. I can already see those cogs turning in your head, trying to come up with something to say to make me feel better. It wasn't one of those horror stories where the children are neglected or abused by those who worked there," he said.

"I just . . . surely you have someone," Peeta insisted.

Cato shook his head. "Your big heart is going to get you into trouble someday," he said. Despite this, he was smiling. "It's not your job to look after me, it's my job to look after you. Understand?"

"I guess . . ." Peeta muttered. Worrying was like a second nature to him. He constantly worried about his mother, he worried about his future, now he was going to worry about Cato too. He just couldn't help it. It seemed that he had grown to care for Cato, which wasn't a good situation to be in since Cato had already adamantly insisted that he did not develop feelings for subs. It seemed that having sex was not as intimate an act for Cato as it had grown to be for Peeta.

"Good." Cato stole a kiss and ruffled Peeta's hair before resuming his cooking.

Peeta could only hope now that the feelings would pass.

~T~

Peeta sat in bed with the covers over his lap, trying to bite a hangnail off his finger. He hated hangnails, they were so hard to pull off and always caught on clothes and other materials. Cato sat at the edge of the bed, doing some finalizing on his PDA. When he finished, he flipped the thing shut and climbed in beside Peeta.

"You just going straight to sleep?" asked Peeta. Sometimes Cato read or they chatted for a bit before going to sleep.

"Yeah," answered Cato. Without another word, he threw the covers over his head and crawled to the end of the bed. Every night, before going to sleep, Cato had to make Peeta cum at least once. It was like part of his routine or something. Like it put him at ease for the night knowing that his pet was satisfied. Peeta still had to grow used to this and forgot every single time that Cato almost _had _to do this. It was one of Cato's OCD-like master quirks.

Peeta watched the moving duvet lump that was Cato apprehensively, already beginning to tremble in anticipation. It was strange, being part of such an apt routine that involved his compliance and good behaviour. Especially since the schedule concerned Cato not being able to rest peacefully without getting Peeta to orgasm.

Fingers curled into the waistband of his underwear and Peeta held his breath, lifting his hips and allowing Cato to pull them off. He could swear Cato groped him without reason as he slid the garment off of him but he didn't mind all that much. His body did belong to Cato for the foreseeable future, he could do with it what he wanted. Which, it seemed, having random gropes of his ass.

Peeta allowed Cato to spread his legs apart. He curled his fingers into the duvet as he felt his owner's warm breath against his private parts and he released his breath as huge gust of air. "Sir?" Peeta whimpered, a little nervous due to the fact that his neither regions were still a little tender from earlier.

"Yes?" asked Cato, his hands sliding up Peeta's thighs and resting on his hips.

"Please be gentle," Peeta whispered, his voice lost amongst the conflicting emotions he always felt in Cato's presence.

"Aren't I always?"

"Well yeah-except when you're not."

"Any time I inflict pain, it is in your best interests," Cato answered. Peeta whined when his blood rushed warm as Cato's breath seemed to almost caress his body. "Spread a little wider and don't forget to moan for me, okay baby?"

"Okay Cat-Aaargh! I mean sir!" Cato's fingernails dug into his backside so hard it almost felt like it was going to draw blood. "Sir, I meant to say sir, I swear!"

"Shut up and stop fretting," Cato scolded, his voice muffled under the covers. "Let me work now."

Work. Peeta almost scoffed. "I don't even know if I'll have the stamina for th-IS!" Peeta's voice tapered into a squeak as Cato's mouth engulfed his penis. "Oh fu. . ." Peeta bit his lip, his chest unable to catch any sensible form of breath. His feet slipped off a little and he yelped, blushing furiously as his knees knocked against Cato's temples.

"Ow!" Cato exclaimed.

"Sorry, sir!" Peeta exclaimed back. "My feet just . . . they just slipped!" Concerned by how hard his knees had actually hit Cato, Peeta lifted the duvet and grabbed the back of Cato's shirt. "Come here, let me see."

"It's fine," said Cato, trying to pull back.

"Have you ever had a concussion before, sir?" asked Peeta.

"No," Cato answered.

"Then just let me check, sir," Peeta insisted. When Cato was still reluctant, and tried to continue sucking Peeta off, Peeta whimpered, his back bowing away from the headboard of the bed. His fingers curled into Cato's shirt and he kept tugging. "Come on, just let me check. You can finish off your . . . uh . . . job . . . once I'm sure you're okay."

"God, you and your fussing," Cato muttered. However, he let Peeta pull him up out of the covers

Once Cato's head came out from underneath the covers, his hair sticking up with static, Peeta framed his face in his hands and examined his eyes to check for any signs of concussion. "I'm always fussing, you know that," Peeta murmured, thankful that he hadn't done any damage to Cato's head. "I'm sorry about that. My feet just sort of slipped on the mattress sheets."

"It's alright, I'm okay," said Cato. He tried to slip back under the covers but Peeta had become entranced by his eyes. He didn't let go of Cato's face and instead stared at his eyes in a fascinated way. The green of them. It was so refined. He couldn't believe it. It was beautiful. His fingers twitched, desperate to recreate the colour with his paints.

"Is there something on my face?" Cato quipped.

"No, it's just . . . your eyes are so . . . I can't even find the right word for them," said Peeta in awe.

"_My_ eyes? Says the one with the inhuman baby blues," Cato responded. Peeta blushed. He used the tips of his fingers to touch the hair brushed behind Cato's ears, enjoying the way the silky hairs caressed his fingertips and using his master's distraction to his advantage. Cato leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Peeta's right eyebrow.

"Cato, have you always been a dom, or have you submitted before?" Peeta asked.

"I tried once." Cato propped himself up on one elbow, his body lined up perfectly with Peeta's and pressing him into the mattress in a comfortable way. With a hand now free, he reached out and swiped his thumb along Peeta's bottom lip. "It didn't work. I couldn't take it. It increased my respect for my subs, however. There's no way I could do what you do."

"Why's that?" Peeta asked.

"I suppose it's in my nature to be in control," Cato shrugged. He leaned forward and captured Peeta's lips, savouring the kiss and taking his sweet time before pulling away. "I just can't be tied down, I almost panic at the very idea."

Peeta's hand slipped down to Cato's cheek and he stroked the faint stubble on his master's face with his thumb. "Why do you think you panic?" he asked gently.

"I'm sure it's some psychological thing," said Cato. "I'm sure if I went to a therapist they would say that my need for dominance is linked to my lack of control in my childhood or something like that."

"Do _you _think that's what it comes from?" asked Peeta. "Your childhood?"

"I think it's just because I like being in control," said Cato. He kissed Peeta again, neither of them aware of how intimate the situation had gotten. Peeta had never been so close to Cato, had never touched his face or hold him in any way what-so-ever. Cato was also being strangely gentle. Of course, he was always careful with Peeta but there was something different about this form of careful. It was affectionate and familiar.

"Sure, but so do many others," Peeta asked between kisses. "What do you think made it reach the extent that it has?"

"The extent?" Cato quirked an eyebrow at Peeta, clearly indicating for him to go on.

"I mean . . . no one's born with the desire to lead such a . . . different . . . lifestyle," Peeta tried to explain. "Right? I mean, surely it has to develop over a certain length of time. Like it was incubated by something that made it grow or . . . something?"

"I don't know, I was a pretty controlling kid," Cato shrugged. "I always had to be group leader; team captain; the one in charge basically. It's probably just something that moved on into my adult life. Besides, I like the way my sex life is. I'm perfectly comfortable with my lifestyle. I doubt it really matters what the origin story is. I'm incredibly happy with where my life is right now. Aren't you?"

Peeta chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Relatively?" he answered unsurely.

"Relatively?" Cato repeated. He nestled his face in the crook of Peeta's neck and sighed. "You shouldn't settle for anything less than completely and utterly happy," he mumbled into the smaller boy's skin.

"I'm okay with relatively," Peeta said. He wound his fingers into Cato's hair, content with just lying there without sex or feeling obligated to do something sexual at all.

"I have your satchel."

Peeta froze underneath Cato. It all came back to him. He wasn't shocked or surprised, he just hadn't noticed that for the past few days he hadn't been carrying his satchel around. He had left it in Cato's office on Wednesday. "Oh," he whispered. "Did-did you look in it?"

Cato smiled into Peeta's neck. "I did," he murmured.

"Why?"

"I didn't go hoking around in your stuff if that's what you're worried about," said Cato. "When I found your bag sitting by the couch in my office and I picked it up, the Velcro ripped open and the flap fell open. Your stuff spilled out onto the floor."

Peeta's heart sank. He knew that his satchel was old, and that the Velcro sometimes broke open, so he handled the bag with care. But Cato didn't know that. He lifted his bag without realizing that the flap would snap. He saw what was inside out of pure accident. He suddenly felt this urge to curl up into a ball and crawl away into a hole where he would spend eternity basking in his horror.

"You're very talented," said Cato, as if this would help. "I know you said you were interested in art but those paintings . . . they were . . . they were _amazing_."

"I don't-they weren't meant to be-I didn't . . ." Peeta couldn't find the right words to explain what was going on. He suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. "They were just a joke. I was just sort of pretending that I was applying for Art College. I do it every now and again just . . . just because . . . because . . ."

"You don't have to explain yourself, you know," said Cato. "It's okay to do what you enjoy sometimes. You don't need an alibi or an explanation."

Peeta shook his head. "No, I'm wasting my time. There's no point in me doing it, it's stupid. I always just sort of carry them around just . . . just because I can't leave them behind at home. Y'know, in case someone I don't want to finds it."

"What, like me?" Cato smirked. He lifted his head and brushed the hair away from Peeta's forehead. "I don't see why you shouldn't want someone to see them. You're amazingly talented."

Peeta rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh," he muttered. "I should have quit long ago. The more I entertain the idea that I can accomplish something like Art College the more I'm going to waste my time. It's stupid."

Cato frowned. "Surely you could still apply. Your work-what I saw of it anyway-was so beautiful, so inspired, so meticulously completed it's clear how much effort you put into every corner of your sketches and paintings. You'd have no trouble getting into Art College. They wouldn't even second guess your talent, you'd get in easily."

"No," Peeta said, shaking his head. "I don't intend to apply for anything. Especially not with those drawings in the satchel."

"You shouldn't waste such a talent," Cato insisted.

"I _can't_ Cato," Peeta replied. He squirmed out from underneath Cato and sat on the edge of the bed. "I can't. I have my mother to look after. She can't cope on her own. The fact that I'm here is a favour I have arranged with our neighbour because Máthair wouldn't let me care for her over the weekend, no matter how much I insisted to her that I could do it. I don't have time for College."

Cato scooted closer to Peeta and gently placed his hands on his shoulders. "I'm sure there's a way you could care for your mother and still go to College."

"No, Cato, there isn't. Trust me, if there was a way, I'd have thought of it," Peeta said.

Cato rubbed his thumbs into Peeta's back, trying to comfort him a little. Peeta's eyes rolled behind his head and he sighed in content. "Have you ever thought of-and I say this gently-a nursing home?" Cato asked cautiously.

"What?! _No_! I am not sending Máthair to a nursing home!" Peeta snapped.

"Okay, okay, calm down, it was only a suggestion," Cato said gently.

"A suggestion I didn't ask for!"

"Peeta," Cato said, his voice firm and warning, "watch your tone."

Peeta frowned to himself but conceited. "Sorry," he muttered. "I love my mother too much to send her away to some home. She's had enough people ditching her in her life time and I'm not going to be one of them, you hear me, Cato? I'm just . . . I'm just not!" He pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration and groaned.

"You can still visit people in Nursing Homes," Cato said carefully. He spoke like he was treading on ice, something he told himself he'd never do for a sub. "You could still see her every day. Just not as often. You wouldn't have to worry about her care. You wouldn't be abandoning her."

Peeta put his head in his hands. The idea was unthinkable. Take his mother from her home-the place she had lived her entire life-just to put her in an alien environment? No. "I don't care," Peeta answered. "I'm not sending her away. I've had this conversation before. Nothing you can say will change my mind."

"Who have you spoken to about it?" asked Cato.

"Katniss and Delly have tried to talk me into it before," answered Peeta.

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that your ex expresses so much interest in your life?" Cato frowned.

Peeta shook his head. "What? No," he replied.

"I don't know. It just seems . . . weird. Are you sure it's completely platonic? I know you are but is she?"

"Yes," Peeta said slowly. "Katniss is like my sister."

"Yeah, a sister you've dated," Cato muttered.

Peeta wretched away from Cato, facing him with a frown. "What exactly is your problem?" he demanded. "Are you jealous of Katniss or something?"

Cato narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I'd watch how you talk to me Peeta. Last warning."

"You are, you're avoiding the question!" Peeta accused. "Cato, Katniss isn't a threat, she's . . . well, she's just Katniss!"

"Peeta, I'm not jealous."

"Katniss is my _friend_! We're just really close, that's all!" Peeta exclaimed. "I don't understand why you would feel threatened!"

Cato lurched forward and grabbed Peeta by the waist, spinning them around on the bed until the smaller boy was pinned underneath him. Peeta stared at him in shock. "I told you it was your last warning!" Cato snapped.

"Well, maybe if you just admitted that you're jealous and that maybe it's possible that you are capable of feeling such things other than lust and greed I wouldn't have to talk to you like this!" Peeta shouted back. He didn't know why he was so bothered, maybe it was because Cato's suggestion of putting his mother in a home had riled him up, but the idea that anything was going between himself and Katniss was the final straw.

"I'm not jealous, I've hung out with exes all the time!" Cato yelled.

"People who you've forced to their knees, bound up and fucked in the past don't count!" Peeta fired back. He didn't even bother squirming as Cato roughly grabbed his wrists and forced them against the mattress. He was too focused on pouring all his pent up anger into one, burning stare.

"I don't have any reason to be jealous," said Cato. His lips attached themselves to the sensitive skin underneath Peeta's jawbone. The younger boy's composure wavered but he still managed to cling to his anger and hold it in his chest where it felt like it was going to burst out any second. "Why should I be worried about something I already own? Your body belongs to me, I don't have to envy anyone because what I want is already mine."

Peeta wondered-not for the first time-what it was that Cato saw in him. He barely had a muscle to his name, nor did he really find his face all that appealing. Maybe Cato had a thing for those who were plain looking. "I'm not really in the mood," he murmured. Despite saying this, he wasn't making any move to stop Cato from practically slobbering over his neck. "Although for some reason I feel that won't stop you."

"You did cause a distraction by trying to check for a concussion, even though I told you _no_. Count your blessings you're not being punished," Cato threatened.

Peeta was still irritated and wasn't in the mood for playing nice. "Well sorry _sir_," he said pointedly, "I won't worry about your welfare next time! If it's going to get me punished then I just won't bother!"

"Good!" Cato replied. He kissed Peeta fiercely, the kiss so powerful it pushed the smaller boy into the cushions. Peeta wanted to move his hands; to lift them up and touch Cato's face; his hair; his arms; his body. But Cato wouldn't let him do it. Peeta tried to pull himself away but Cato was too strong. For the first time since this whole arrangement began did he feel completely helpless.

Cato, fuelled by rage and frustration, was rough but efficient. He used a discarded scarf to bind Peeta's wrists to the headboard of the bed before pushing his shirt up to his chin and attacking the alabaster skin that lay underneath. Cato was greedy, his mouth devouring Peeta's slim torso messily, leaving sparkling trails of saliva on his skin that snaked from the middle of his abdomen to across his waistline and sides.

Peeta couldn't breathe. It was like the room had been rid of all oxygen, all of it completely sucked out and replaced with a thick, almost musty, stale imposter of air behind. It was a lot to take in all at once. Half an hour ago they had been ready for bed, one quick orgasm away from a peaceful night's sleep, and between then and where they were now Peeta had nearly concussed Cato; they had had an out of character heart-to-heart; Cato tried to talk him into going to college to pursue art _and_ to put his mother into a Nursing Home; had a ridiculous argument over envy and Katniss; and now Cato was . . . what? Punishing Peeta? Channeling his anger into a quick fuck? Groping him for the sake of groping him?

A tiny breath caught in Peeta's throat as Cato's gorgeous pink lips enclosed around one of his nipples, while one of his hands simultaneously grasped his throbbing cock. "Ngh," Peeta groaned, not sure what 'Ngh' stood for, nor did he doubt he would ever discover what it did stand for. His body lifted from the bed and his wrists begged to be freed.

It was a quick fuck. The bedroom equivalent to a quickie in a public cubicle. Peeta concluded that Cato was funneling his anger into the sex as he didn't give him prep before he entered him and each thrust was clearly executed for getting Cato off, not Peeta. Of course, Peeta still came, as Cato would not be able to sleep that night if he didn't, but it had to be the most limited of orgasms. Could an orgasm even be limited?

It did not end there, either. Once the sex was over, Cato sat against the headboard of the bed and put Peeta over his knees, naked and still trembling from the after-effect of being fucked so hard that he was still experiencing aftershocks, and spanked him from his blatant disobedience. Peeta supposed it fair, since he ignored Cato's warnings during their argument and seemed to completely forget where he stood and what his place was.

However, once the spanking finished, Cato's more tender self returned. Peeta couldn't deny that he was thankful, as his ass burned like hot coals and he didn't know how many more smacks he would have been able to take before he'd have to shout warmth. Peeta didn't intend to call the safe word too often-he still cursed himself for using it instead over just admitting what Cato had wanted him to admit, since saying it out loud didn't mean he had to believe it-because he wanted to prove how capable he was of being a good sub.

"You have to know I only want what's best for you," Cato said gently, his palm smoothing gentle caresses over the curve of Peeta's abused behind.

"I understand, sir," Peeta mumbled into the duvet. "I just didn't know that our agreement meant that you would take such an interest in my private life."

"It means that since you belong to me, in accordance to the temporary contract, I can offer advice and aid on things relating to your personal life but I cannot interfere without your expressed permission," Cato explained.

"I don't remember reading that," said Peeta.

"I know, I had to come up with it after the 6 month contract had been signed by you," Cato replied.

"Why's that?"

"Because I've never been interested in a sub's personal life before."

Peeta couldn't understand why, if Cato had never been interested in a sub's personal life until now, he chose _his _particular life to be interested in. His life was boring as hell! "I see," was all he could conjure up in response.

Cato threaded his fingers through Peeta's silky locks and stroked his head lovingly. Peeta almost purred, a heat blooming in his chest that stayed there instead of falling to his crotch like it usually did. "Although, next time you ignore me so blatantly, it will be worse than some rough sex and a spanking for you," he warned.

Peeta's body tensed, the thought of what Cato would do to him exciting him in an incredibly exhilarating fashion. "What would you do with me, sir?" he asked in his best sultry voice.

Cato placed a hand over Peeta's mouth and purred into his ear, "I'd just have to ball gag you, chain your ankles to the same bed posts as your wrists and fuck your tight hole with an ice dildo until you came over yourself over and over again like the dirty whore you are."

Peeta shuddered. He still didn't understand how such things could turn him on but he could already feel his cock waking up a little at the idea. However, he still couldn't completely understand why Cato was so interested in whether he went to college or whether he pursued art or not. It had nothing to do with him, or their 'relationship', or the arrangement between them. It didn't make sense.

Was Cato, dare he say it, developing feelings for him too?

**A/N: Thoughts would be great! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you everyone for continuing your support for this story :-)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Something new will be introduced in this chapter but I want to see if you guys can figure it out what it is so I'm going to say ;)**

Chapter Nine

Peeta pressed his back against the wall and peered around curiously. The night air was cold, pricking at his skin like tiny needles, and every hair on his body stood to attention. He slowly came out when he was sure the coast was clear and began walking in the direction of his bungalow. His heart was pumping at a million miles per second and he could barely catch his breath. He was nervous. His palms were sweating and his breathing was short.

A second later, he was grabbed and pushed against the wall. Peeta yelped in surprise and winced a little when his face scraped the bricks roughly. His wrists were grabbed and held behind his back while a husky voice said, "You're under arrest for trespassing on private grounds. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law."

It was kind of ludicrous, since it wasn't private grounds and Peeta's house was literally just across the road. He didn't protest, however, as he was dragged to the car and shoved into the back seat. The cop drove for a long time, approximately an hour or two, and when he parked, the police station wasn't in sight. The cop then got out of the car and grabbed Peeta's elbow, dragging him out of the backseat without abandon.

"Why are we here, officer . . ." Peeta leaned in and squinted at the badge on the officer's shirt. "Hadley?"

"Pit stop. The station is another three hours away and I'm falling asleep at the wheel," Officer Hadley explained. He held Peeta's wrists behind his back with one hand and took him to a room that had obviously been booked in advance as he already had keys and they didn't go into the reception room at all.

The room was okay. Nothing extravagant. A double bed; a dresser; a bathroom; a wardrobe and a television. Peeta almost laughed at how dismal it all looked, especially since the walls were beige. Who thinks, 'This room needs to look attractive and bright, let's paint it beige!' The carpet was wine red and every step was met with resistance and a bounce as the material threw his shoe back up.

Officer Hadley pushed Peeta to the wall between the bathroom and the bed. "Hands against the wall and spread 'em. I need to pat you down." Heart still pounding, Peeta pressed his sweaty palms against the boring beige walls, hoping to God that they weren't so wet that they slipped. He separated his legs and inhaled quietly, quelling his coiled nerves by silently reminding himself of the truth.

Officer Hadley began with Peeta's shoulders. He felt along his shoulders and arms before sliding his hand down his torso and kneading the muscles in his back. Peeta closed his eyes and anxiously chewed on his lip, sucking in his breath and holding it there in his chest as Officer Hadley's hands reached his waist.

"So, what's your name?" Officer Hadley asked. Peeta was about to answer when two strong hands slid down his back and firmly grabbed his ass. He squeaked instead; a pathetic sound he was extremely ashamed of. Officer Hadley groped him thoroughly, as if it weren't already obvious that Peeta wasn't concealing weapons in the back pockets of his skinny jeans. Peeta's face burned in embarrassment and his blood heated up to match. His breathing grew uneven and shaky as he fought to catch ahold of himself.

"I wouldn't stay quiet, kid. It won't help you in the long run," Officer Hadley eventually said.

"P-Peeta." God, he sucked at this. He sucked hard.

"Okay then, P-Peeta, would you like to explain to me what you were doing on private grounds?" asked Officer Hadley.

"I was . . ." What could he say he was doing? Peeta struggled to find an answer that wasn't feeble yet was entirely feasible. ". . . taking a shortcut home?" He internally cursed himself when he sounded more like he was asking a question than answering one.

"And what made you believe it would be okay to cut across the private grounds of The Careers' Estates?" Peeta made a strangled sound as the Officer reached between his legs and grabbed his balls over his jeans, cupping them in his hands and roughly squeezing.

"Uh . . ." Okay, now he was stuck. What was he supposed to say? The Careers' Estates didn't even exist, it was just a made up place. How was he supposed to big up the importance of a non-existent area?

"Let me answer for you," said Officer Hadley, "you are one of those chancers who think they'll never get caught breaking the law." He grabbed Peeta's shoulder and spun him back around, looking him in the eye with a fierce intensity that made the smaller boy swallow in fear. Peeta was at a loss for words, not knowing whether he was expected to answer or not. Officer Hadley reached up and took Peeta's chin between his pointer finger and thumb. "You're lucky you've got a pretty face or I'd probably have shot you by now for wasting my time."

"That's hardly ethical," Peeta weakly replied.

"But very satisfying," the Officer replied. He stepped back and sighed. "It's not enough, I'm afraid. I'm going to have to conduct a strip search."

Peeta knew what he was supposed to do here. Weirdly unafraid, he pushed away from the wall and stripped himself down in front of Officer Hadley until he stood before him completely naked. Maybe because the eyes before him had seen his naked form several times before that made him a bit more confident than usual. The only thing he was coy about was the fact that his penis was erect, having reacted to the pat down which now only seemed like an excuse for a grope. Peeta resisted the urge to cover himself up.

"I quickly have to make a call," Officer Hadley said, producing a piece of rope. Peeta felt ridiculous when the man seemed unfazed by his confidence. "I'll be right back."

"Let me dress first, then," said Peeta, finally able to find a way to act like he was supposed to.

"Nah-ah, I'm not finished," Officer Hadley responded. He took Peeta to the bed and bound his wrists to one of the bedposts in a way so that he was sitting on edge of the mattress. "I'll be right back."

Peeta sat on the bed, staring at his wrists. This roleplaying thing was weird. He wasn't very good at it. Cato was a pro, this much was obvious-he was clearly an expert-but Peeta sucked. He didn't know how Cato had been able to stay in character this long. He was struggling to get out two sentences that sounded even half in character of the law breaker whose Officer has taken a shine to.

Cato took longer than expected. Peeta didn't like sitting there naked. He focused all his attention onto his wrists and forced himself to stay calm and not acknowledge that voice at the back of his head that was telling him how stupid he had been to take his clothes off so confidently. He wasn't sexy, he couldn't pull shit like that off. Cato probably thought he was an idiot, trying to act provocative like that. Peeta's cock was screaming at him, demanding to be touched before it spontaneously burst.

This was going to be a long night.

When Cato came out of the bathroom, he smirked. Peeta looked so nervous, sitting on the edge of the bed with his cock hard and proudly standing up. Even in the weak lighting of the room, the younger boy looked beautiful. His skin almost glowed against the faint dark of the room and his hair fell in his eyes in tousled waves. Peeta stared at him with those huge baby blues of his and Cato knew that he was going to lose that blue as they were consumed by the blackness of arousal before the night was out.

"To keep you quiet," he muttered, pretending to be talking to himself. He produced a gag with a bright red ball attached to it, strapping it against Peeta's mouth before he had a chance to forget they were trying to role play for the first time and ask what it was as himself. "I'm going to have to conduct a cavity search," he informed his prisoner, who already had a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Cato could almost hear every frantic beat of Peeta's little heart. He grinned evilly at his pet and firmly said, "Spread 'em," again.

Peeta knew what he meant. Cato watched the way Peeta's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and leaned back a little before spreading his legs. It was almost strange how quickly Peeta had trusted Cato. He had never gotten this far with a submissive within a month because there had always been trust issues for the first few but Peeta seemed to trust him wholly and completely. Cato didn't know why but he wasn't prepared to argue with it.

Cato knelt down and his eyes took in the exposed form of his lover. Peeta's cock was still hard as a rock and stood up, his perfectly shaped balls seated just underneath. Then there was his hole. Puckered and pink and still looking as tight as the day Cato took Peeta's virginity. He smiled to himself at that. He took it. Peeta's virginity was his. No one else could say that.

"Because, it seems, your asshole is so tight, a simple visual examination won't do," Cato decided. He stood up and ordered, "Put your feet up on the bed."

Obedient as ever, Peeta did as he was told. Cato used some duct tape to tie together Peeta's ankles so he was completely immobile. Really, he wanted to see how far he could go. Would Peeta trust him all the way to the point of allowing this to go on, even when he couldn't speak, move or-as Cato tied a black scarf around his eyes-see? He'd soon see.

Before he got onto the bed, Cato checked Peeta's hand. It was clenched in a fist, smushed against his other arm by the rope, with his thumb peeking out in a discreet message. When going through the dynamics and rules of role play, Cato explained to Peeta that he was going to gag him and, since this completely obliterated the idea of a safe word, Cato told Peeta to keep his hand in a thumbs up and if he didn't like what was going on then to spread his hand out, almost like he were about to high five someone. Since it looked like Peeta was randomly giving him a friendly gesture while bound up the way he was, it seemed that he was still alright with the situation.

Cato was baffled but impressed.

Peeta mightn't have realized it, but he looked very provoking lying so vulnerable and bare on the rickety old motel bed. Cato had considered going a little upper class with the setting but he had always liked to make the role play as realistic as possible and, if he were the sleazy cop he was pretending to be, then he probably would take his gorgeous captive to a seedy motel like this one. But lying there, so exposed and defenseless, Peeta was almost begging to be fucked. Which was impressive since he was gagged.

Cato sat down on the space beside Peeta on the bed. He placed a hand on his pet's bare side, smiling when the trapped boy jolted in surprise. One of the things that never failed to amaze Cato was the Merchant's pale complexions. He wasn't a tanned beach boy himself but he did have a bit of a golden glow to his own skin. But the Merchants? They were pale as ghosts. It didn't seem to make sense that all of them had such pure coloring but it seemed that anyone with Merchant blood struggled to tan. And the ones who got spray tans just looked silly.

"Maybe we can come to an arrangement," he said in character, almost completely forgetting about Officer Hadley. It wasn't the first time. When Peeta squeaked like an adorable mouse when Cato had grabbed his ass, Cato had almost fell out of character. Which was a first for him. And don't get him fucking started about when Peeta stripped in front of him. If they weren't slap bang in the middle of a role play, Cato would have rewarded him for such bravery. He'd have to put it on his list of things to do.

"Maybe if you allow me access to your body for the night, I'll free you of all charges," he said thoughtfully, walking his fingers up Peeta's side. "I'm a very lonely man, you see." He lowered his mouth to the smooth skin and placed a kiss just below his lover's armpit. Peeta's breath shuddered in his chest at the feeling. "I left my wife when I discovered that she wasn't what I was looking for in a partner anymore. What I want is someone sturdy." Another kiss, a little lower. "Someone strong." Another, placed carefully on the right pectoral muscle. "But someone who take still take cock like a whore."

Cato spent a lot of time working on his characters. He figured that if you were going to role play, you might as well do it properly. It didn't work right if you tried doing improv, so he always prepared in advance for scenes like this one. Officer Hadley was a lonely pervert who grew tired of his wife's breasts and realized that he had an attraction towards men when he went to a stripper club one night and fucked a busboy. What attracted him to Peeta was his innocence and purity; his gorgeous golden hair and alabaster skin being too hard to ignore.

Despite that fact that the ball in his mouth engulfed most of his speech ability, Peeta's whimpers weren't hard to hear. Especially when Cato curled his tongue around the boy's left nipple, toying with it until was hard and raw. "I should still conduct the cavity search, though," Cato concluded. "Just in case you are concealing something dangerous."

Peeta's body arched away from Cato the moment he pushed a lube covered finger inside of him. He whined and squirmed, his hand still in a thumbs up position. Somehow contradicting himself, Peeta parted his knees the tiniest of bits (his movements limited due to his bonds) and pushed down on Cato's digit desperately. He moaned behind the gag, his body shivering in desperation and his arms trembling with effort.

"I knew you were a little slut," Cato grinned. He scissored Peeta's moist entrance with his fingers and ever so gently rubbed his sweet spot. He did it lightly, so Peeta could only barely feel it. It drove his captive wild and he squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've fucked your way out of jail before. Maybe even bad grades when you were in school."

Peeta groaned, almost as if he was agreeing with Officer Hadley.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Cato said triumphantly. "You let your professors have their way with you so you wouldn't get bad grades, huh?" He slapped Peeta's ass cheek playfully. Peeta yelped in surprise, however he still held the thumbs up. Officer Hadley could be a dickhead, sometimes, but that just added to the fun.

Cato's own cock had gotten unbearably hard and was rubbing against his costume trousers uncomfortably. He rolled away from Peeta for a second, leaving him to ponder when the next touch was going to come and where it was going to come from, and took his pants off. His also discarded his fake police jacket with the plastic sheriff's badge and unbuttoned his shirt until he was in his underpants and undershirt.

He allowed Peeta to just lie there for a good five to ten minutes. Leaving subs completely helpless added to the effect, especially when they didn't know what was going to happen next. Cato just sat beside Peeta on the bed, watching him carefully while his chest heaved and beads of sweat made the slow descent down his spine. Cato wondered what Peeta was thinking. What was going through his mind right that second.

Because Peeta lay on his side, Cato had an excellent view of his pet's back and ass. It struck him as odd that he wasn't thinking dirty thoughts in that moment. He just kept thinking about how comforted he felt by Peeta's presence. He should have been fantasizing about how he was going to fuck him hard. Or how he was going to take the gag off and make him put his pretty mouth to use by sucking his cock. Not thinking about how . . . _good_ . . . everything felt with Peeta here by his side. It was weird. It was strange. It was something Cato had never felt before.

He didn't know whether he liked it or not.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he finally said, making his captive jump in surprise. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll regret ever trespassing."

As Cato lined himself up with Peeta's ass, while Peeta waited with baited breath, he pondered why he kept taking his anger out on Peeta when they interacted sexually with each other. He just couldn't help how frustrated he sometimes got when he felt something deeper than arousal when he was around Peeta. And because Peeta was clearly doing something different, something that all his previous subs hadn't done before, Cato somehow funneled all the irritation and confusion into how he fucked Peeta, as if it would make the younger boy realize that he was somehow screwing Cato up. That it would make him feel exactly what Cato felt?

However, Peeta always remained ignorant of it all.

Cato pushed into Peeta and didn't give him any adjustment period before he started thrusting. Peeta moaned, the thumbs up hand trembling but holding fast. He swiveled his hips back to meet every one of Cato's over-eager thrusts, his head tipping backwards and a hot moan of pleasure slipping out every time Cato's length pushed against his sweet spot.

Cato's heart was pounding in his chest. All of his blood had left his head and had now taken residence in his cock, which was throbbing in Peeta's taut heat. All he could thankfully think about now was how he wanted to find his release and get Peeta to reach his as well. Everything else; all the worry, all the stress, all the frustration, could take a back seat while he finally found it in him to resume the role play.

"You're going to cum for me you dirty whore and then I'll consider letting you walk free," he growled, wrapping his arms around Peeta's torso so he could push into him easier since they were lying on their sides. Sweat broke out across Cato's forehead as his speed and vigor increased. Peeta's head tipped back again and the skin of his neck looked so tender and vulnerable Cato couldn't resist attaching his lips to it and suckling on the skin between his collar bone and neck.

Muffled by the gag, another moan escaped. Peeta's limitations caused his body to tremble and shudder uncontrollably. He wanted to spread his legs wider, to give Cato more access, but the tape around his ankles wouldn't let him, and dissatisfaction grew inside of him. Well, as dissatisfied as he could be while being fucked and having his neck gorgeously suckled on while having to keep up an idea that he was selling his body for a get out of jail free pass.

"I want to hear your voice while I make you cum." Cato unclipped the ball gag and threw it away behind them. Peeta sucked in a greedy gasp of air, filling his lungs again with its sweet nectar. "Tell me what you want, slut."

"Ah-ehhh, t-t-touch me-me-me-me please!" Peeta groaned, his eyes fluttering behind the silken scarf.

Cato peered around his pet's writhing torso and smirked in satisfaction at the younger boy's swollen cock, which pressed against his stomach and had created a stain of pre-cum on the bedcovers. He could understand why, by this point, Peeta was reaching the point of begging and he couldn't imagine how painfully hard it had been when he was gagged up. However, Peeta knew now the sorts of things that he was in for, and his hand was still a thumbs up, even though the gag was gone.

Halting his thrusting completely, Cato asked, "Why should I?"

Peeta screamed in frustration and banged his head off the pillow by his bound wrists. "Because I'm doing this to get out of jail and I'm not getting anything out of it!" he yelled.

"Oh, are you not?" Cato pulled out of Peeta and quickly pulled the rope off the bedpost. He tugged Peeta over to the middle of the bed, trying not to laugh when his pet groaned in annoyance, and retied them to a spike in the middle of the headboard so Peeta was face down against the bed. "I'll show you not getting anything out of it."

Cato spread Peeta's ass cheeks and pushed back into him, ignoring the pained groan he got in response. He thursted into him twice as fast and triple as hard, knowing that the scratchy material of the bed's comforter would serve as a substitute for what Peeta so avidly claimed he wasn't getting. Peeta moaned so loud Cato almost worried that someone was going to think he was killing him in there. As hot as it was, there were reasons Cato had to gag some of his subs, and Peeta's virtue just made him prone to being audible.

"Feel free to hump the bed if that's what you'd like," Cato said, his voice stuffed his self-satisfaction. "Since you're not getting anything out of this, as you claimed, you can do it yourself."

"Cato!"

"You mean Officer Hadley?" Cato chastised, swatting Peeta's flexed shoulder blades for the mistake.

"Officer Hadley, could you please stop being a jackass and just do what you set out to do?" Peeta groaned through gritted teeth.

Cato knew that Peeta was just being in character but he was going to pay for that jackass comment later. "What? You mean fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for weeks?" he asked sweetly.

"If you like," responded Peeta.

"As you wish, sweet dear fuck of mine." Cato amped his speed and power up to an eleven, fucking Peeta's tight hole in a way that made him almost worry that he was going to ruin the boy's taut, virgin sweetness. Like an elastic band, however, whenever his cock pulled out, even the tiniest of bits, the boy's entrance seemed to contract again into its original tightness. Peeta squirmed and grunted, his bound ankles causing the most trouble as he wished to give in to his desire and rub his aching hardness against the bed for some form of relief.

"Oh God, Ca-_Officer_, I-I'm going to cum!" Peeta yelped, suddenly afraid about staining the motel's sheets. Cato almost burst out laughing when he heard Peeta's brogue. It broke through like a pubescent boy's lilting tones.

"Do it then," Cato grunted, nearing his own release like a car on a crash course with a wall. Knowing that Peeta's cumming was probably going to make him screech like the sexy little banshee he was, Cato pushed the younger boy's face into the pillows to muffle his voice.

It half worked. When Peeta wanted to, he had this really loud voice that could travel through sheets of metal if he hit the right frequency. Cato was amazed by it. Which was weird. Because he hated his subs being loud. Mostly because it increased the risk of someone walking in on them and catching what they were doing. Cato had managed to keep his dom life secret for so long now, he didn't want the scandal that would entail if his secret life ever went public. But he wanted to hear Peeta's moans and screams of ecstasy almost more than he wanted to reach his own release. Which didn't make _sense._

Peeta came with another one of his sexy-but-confusing screams of ecstasy, his entire body going completely limp as exhaustion immediately washed over him. Cato hoped he would be able to increase Peeta's stamina, so they could maybe go two or three times before he gave into fatigue. However, especially this particular scene, sex with Cato could be extremely strenuous, and he knew this, so he respected his sub's desire to rest.

A gorgeous shudder of relief wracked Cato's body as he filled Peeta with his seed, feeling almost weightless as the pressure left his cock and blood finally returned to his brain. "Fuck," Cato muttered, sitting down beside Peeta and wiping his sweaty forehead. He pulled the knots out of the rope around Peeta's wrists and helped the younger boy flip around. He paused as he went to rip the tape around Peeta's ankles.

"What?" Peeta panted, ripping the scarf off his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows. "What is it, sir?"

Cato looked at his chest. It was heaving. His breathing was short. His limbs were almost weak and he was sweating enough to flood a small town. He was _exhausted._ How could that be? "Nothing," Cato muttered, ripping the tape off Peeta's ankles.

"I thought something was wrong," Peeta said worriedly. "I thought maybe you'd eaten nuts or something and were about to pass out in front of me. You haven't even taught me how to use your epi-pen yet. You do have one of those, don't you?"

Cato chucked the tape away. He climbed back up to the head of the bed and wound his arm around Peeta's pale shoulders. "Yes, I do," he said.

"I'd feel much more comfortable if you showed me how to use it," Peeta said, his head falling against Cato's shoulder. His hair tickled the underside of Cato's jaw and he had to fight off a smile. Peeta sat up and looked around, "You could show me how to use it now, where is it?"

"It's not here," Cato answered.

Peeta whirled around on Cato with wide eyes. He gaped at him like he had said something horrendous. "You don't carry it? What if something happened? What if . . . if . . . I don't know, someone tried to poison you or you just didn't know there was in nuts in something! That sort of thing can happen, you know!"

Cato rolled his eyes and pulled Peeta back into his arms, amused by the younger boy's concern. "Look, let me worry about my health," he said. "I know what I'm doing."

"Obviously not," Peeta muttered. He glanced at Cato. "You're endangering yourself. It's stupid and it's wrong."

"That's what ambulance services are for."

"Do you even know what epi-pens are for? They're to keep your heart going until the ambulance services arrive! God, how can you be deathly allergic to something and yet know nothing about it?" Peeta asked. "When was the last time you replaced them?"

"You have to _replace_ them?!" Cato asked in surprise.

Peeta shut his eyes and groaned. "Oh my God, sir, I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," he said. "Yes, you have to replace them. They go out of date. When did you receive the set you have now?"

Cato thought back. It had been so long, he wasn't even sure where they were, let alone when he got them. "Probably when I found out about the allergy."

"Which was . . . ?"

"Erm . . . Oh! I was ten."

"Ten?!" Peeta couldn't help pulling out of Cato's arms again. He looked at his owner with a deadly sharp stare. "You were ten?" He asked. His voice was soft, completely different to the anger he held his eyes. Cato loved how Peeta could scare armies into submission with a scowl but had the voice as soft as a rose petal. "Cato, how have you survived this long?"

Cato didn't like how Peeta was becoming so serious about this. Well, actually, he didn't mind how serious Peeta was becoming about it. What he didn't like was how he didn't mind Peeta being so concerned about him. He almost welcomed it. But he couldn't welcome it. He never welcomed it before. "Peeta, leave it alone," said Cato. "It doesn't matter. I'll sort it out, okay? Would that make you feel any better?"

"Yes. Yes it would," Peeta concluded. He melted into Cato's arms and closed his eyes, almost peacefully. "You're not doing anyone any favours by endangering your life. You're a very important man, Cato. The whole city relies on you. Without the work you do . . . we'd crash."

Cato scoffed. "I doubt it. Marvel would probably replace me or something."

"No," Peeta said firmly. "You're wrong."

Cato could recognize when Peeta was going to be stubborn. And this was a perfect example of it. Cato could practically see Peeta building the brick wall up, which would be impenetrable. It was nice that he was so set in his beliefs but when it concerned Cato himself and things that he believed in, it could be a little frustrating.

Peeta _was_ wrong, though. Cato's job wasn't important. He only did accountancy and paperwork for President Snow. The people who kept the town in working order were the doctors. The nurses; the firefighters; the police officers; the _people._ The Merchants. The people like Peeta who would never get recognition for what they did to keep the town moving and working smoothly. Without the Merchants, the city would be in turmoil.

And the saddest thing about it was that not one of them knew it. Because the big shots who worked in corporations and sat behind the desks doing nothing other than giving other people orders made them feel small. Small and insignificant.

"Peeta, what did your family do? Before your mother got ill and your father died?" asked Cato. He realized that Peeta had mentioned on numerous occasions that he was a Merchant, but he never mentioned the trade.

Peeta smiled to himself, as if a fond memory was playing out behind his closed lids. "I thought it was obvious," he said. "We're bakers, born and bred."

Cato grinned. Of course.

"And we still are. My brothers took the business with them to Ireland, so the Mellarks are still around somewhere. Just . . . just not here."

Cato could hear the sadness in Peeta's voice, even if he made an impressive job of trying to hide it. "Hey." Cato tipped Peeta's chin so he looked at him. Peeta's eyes opened and he looked right into Cato's, the power of the baby blue overwhelmingly beautiful. "Why don't you open one of your own? Restart the legacy here again?"

Peeta scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Me? I don't even have time for college, Cato."

Cato almost said something he knew he'd regret. He was about to suggest that Peeta could maybe consider it when he didn't have to look after his mother anymore. It wasn't that he was purposely trying to be cold but Cato didn't know what it was like to love a parent so unconditionally that he would give up most of his life for them. Of course, the carers at the orphanage were nice enough people but he didn't _love_ them. He didn't even feel like he was missing out on anything. Every mother's or father's day he made a card for a different member of staff at the home during crafts at school. There wasn't anything else he could do. Besides, the workers appreciated it.

Cato admired Peeta for his capability to love his mother. He really did have a big heart, and in a way, Cato envied him for that.

The room was suddenly filled with the melancholy notes of Jennifer Lawrence's 'The Hanging Tree'. Peeta cursed to himself and crawled out of the bed, shifting through the clothes on the floor to fish his phone out of his pants. His phone was one of those block things from 2004. Cato was surprised that Peeta even managed to download a song onto it for his ringtone.

"Hello?" It was like a switch. Peeta's face went from smiling to deadly serious. "Máthair, calma síos, labhair go mall." Cato watched Peeta carefully as he sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and face etched with worry. He had never heard Peeta speak fluently until now, and he'd probably ponder the hotness of it later, but now Cato was uneasy about the distress that was carved into every word out of Peeta's mouth. "Cad é? An bhfuil tú cinnte?" Peeta's eyes widened and Cato's heart skipped a beat as the pure shock that was on the younger boy's face made him instantly panic as well.

"No, no, no, calma síos, nach scaoill, tá sé ceart go leor," Peeta quickly said. He shoved his phone between his chin and shoulder so he could pull his pants and underwear on while he spoke. "Máthair, le do thoil calma síos."

Cato only knew that Peeta was talking to his mother, having recognized the 'Máthair' from previous times he had mentioned her. The fact that Peeta was talking to his mother and was suddenly moving with such urgency could not be a good thing. Cato took the initiative and started getting dressed as well, since he was Peeta's only form of transport back into the city.

"Tá mé anseo, tá sé ceart go leor," Peeta begged. He somehow managed to pull his shirt on without once disengaging the conversation with his mother. He glanced at Cato, who was fully dressed by this point. "Beidh mé ceart ann." He moved the mobile away from his ear and whispered to Cato, "We have to go to my mother's."

Cato nodded, already throwing money onto the best side table. Peeta kept talking to his mother, fiddling in his pocket for his own wallet. When he tried to put some money down as well, Cato grabbed it and shoved it back into Peeta's back pocket. Peeta scowled at Cato but didn't complain. They left together and got into the car.

Peeta stayed on the line with his mother the entire time. When all words ran out, he began to sing to her.

"_Óho óho óho mo leana,_

_Óho mo leana ina chodladh gan brón._

_Ar mhullach an tí tá síógí geala_

_Faoi chaoin-ré an earraigh ag imirt 's ag ól_

_Is seo hiad aniar iad a' glaoch ar mo leana_

_Le súil is a mhealladh isteach sa lios mór._

_A leana mo chléibh go n-éirí do chodlaigh leat,_

_Séan agus sonas gach oíche i do chómhair.._

_Tá mise le do thaobh a' gui ort na mbeannacht,_

_Seoithín mo leana is ní imeoidh tú leo." _

The car swerved dangerously to the right. Peeta shot Cato an alarmed look, still able to keep the singing going despite the shock. Cato hadn't meant to do that. He had just gotten so caught up in the song. He wanted to know what the lyrics meant, he wanted to know whether they held significance to Peeta and his mother particularly, or if they were just a tool to keep her calm.

"Sorry," Cato mouthed.

Peeta didn't see it, however. He was too absorbed in singing to his mother.

"_Óho óho óho mo leana_

_Óho mo leana agus codail go fóill._

_Óho óho óho mo leana_

_Óho mo leana ina chodladh gan brón."_

It didn't really dawn on Cato what was about to happen until he-par Peeta's instruction-drove up Mrs. Mellark's driveway and parked. He was about to meet Peeta's mother. He didn't meet his subs mothers! That was a relationship thing, wasn't it? Cato couldn't rethink it, however, as Peeta bolted out of the car and was already at the door before Cato even had a chance to change his mind.

Cato followed Peeta into his mother's house, going at a much slower pace. Peeta ran up the stairs two at a time while Cato lingered downstairs. He was instantly fascinated. Was this where Peeta grew up? Where these cream walls the same cream walls young Peeta saw everyday as he left for school? Was that cabinet opposite the stairs the same cabinet toddler Peeta grabbed for support as he learned to walk?

On his way to the stairs, Cato spotted a photograph hanging on the wall. The frame was old, the wood chipped and cracked. It even seemed to be taped together in some places. The photo inside depicted a family. Three boys and two parents. Cato didn't need to ponder or wonder which one was Peeta, nor did he have to debate with himself whether he was right or not. He just knew. Right there, on the spot. He just knew.

The little boy-the youngest-who was squished between his two brothers. It amazed Cato how Peeta hadn't changed a bit. All he really seemed to have done was lose some baby fat and put on some muscle. His brothers looked similar to each other, with their hair slicked back in that silly way that was popular in the '00s. But Peeta was different. He simply had a mess of golden curls, beautiful rosy cheeks and a smile so wide, he could probably blind someone with it if he tried.

Another photo, which simply sat on the small phone table below, then caught Cato's attention. It was Peeta, the way he was now, with his arms around an elderly woman. Cato assumed it was his mother. An older version of the young woman in the older photograph. Her smile was just like Peeta's and, when you compared them to each other, they really were spitting image of one another.

When Cato finally got up the stairs, he felt almost unwelcome as he gingerly poked his head around the room with the open door. "Uh . . . everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Peeta was sitting on a double bed, his arms wrapped protectively around his mother. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her eyes peacefully closed and her hand clutching his desperately. "She was just seeing things. Recently she's been having these awful apparitions of things that aren't really there."

"Does that happen often?" Cato frowned.

"She's seeing a doctor about it soon," Peeta said quietly, softly stroking the white as snow curls on top of his mother's head. "It's just old age."

"What does she see?"

"My dad, mostly. I'd come back after dropping off an article for the paper and she'd tell me that my dad says hello." Peeta paused, his eyes watery. "But she can't be seeing him because he's dead and she's not."

"Hey, don't cry." Cato went to Peeta, almost by instinct, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. You're right, she's not dead. And she won't be for a while yet."

Peeta pressed his face into his mother's hair, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath. "She sees my brothers, too," he murmured. "She always thought they left because she did something wrong, so when she sees them they're always so horrid to her. I just wish they'd come back and tell her it's not her fault. Or at least give us a call and explain. Surely a call isn't so much to ask for."

Cato looked around Mrs. Mellark's room. The entire area was hooked through with oxygen tubing, all of it cumulating in the cannula connected to her nose. As well as this, the mattress on the bed was thick, the sheets real linen. Cato could spot a knock off from a mile off but there was no sign of fakery here. The pillows were also feather stuffed. On the wall was a plasma screen t.v and the desk in the corner was covered in papers. Some of the pages had writing all over them, others were sketches and paintings. This wasn't just Mrs. Mellark's room. It was also Peeta's.

"Peeta, if you don't mind me asking"-

"You're wondering how we could afford all this," Peeta said. He looked around the room himself and smiled. "Dad. He left us some money. This one here wanted me to put into a college fund but I told her not to be ridiculous. I had to look after her."

"Oh, Peeta," Cato sighed.

"Shut up," Peeta muttered.

Mrs. Mellark stirred. Cato stepped back, bumping into the wall in the process. What was he _doing_? She was Peeta's _mother,_ not a _bomb_! Mrs. Mellark's fingers tightened around Peeta's hand and she made a tiny noise that Cato didn't know whether to decipher as upset or fear.

"Tá mé anseo, tá sé ceart go leor," Peeta whispered to her.

"Peeta?" She murmured.

"Is ea," Peeta replied.

Her eyes fluttered open and when she craned her head around to find that Peeta was, indeed, there, a fond smile broke out across her face. Cato would almost say his heart melted at the sight. But then she glanced around and saw him standing there, the once fond gaze widened into surprise.

Mrs. Mellark looked back at Peeta. "Male . . . friend?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," Peeta said nervously. "Máthair, this is Cato. My, uh, male friend."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mellark," Cato said, hoping he was being helpful.

"Maria," Mrs. Mellark corrected him. "Mrs . . . . make me . . . old." Peeta chuckled softly and shook his head. Cato was surprised to find that he was smiling as well. Maria lifted her hand and pointed at Cato, her finger trembling terribly but holding fast. "You . . . you care for my boy."

"Máthair," Peeta said, his face turning pink, "it's only been two weeks. Maybe you should sleep some more."

Maria didn't even glance at Peeta. "Care for him. Hear?"

Cato nodded. "I hear," he said.

"You don't break heart," Maria insisted.

If Cato was the man he had been two weeks prior, he probably would have ran for the hills by now. But, for some reason, his feet were glued to the floor. He looked Maria Mellark right in the eye and promised, "I won't."

She glanced at Peeta, who shook his head in translation. Maria smiled and closed her eyes. "Dea."

Peeta lulled his mother back to sleep, singing to her again. This time, the song was different.

"_Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh_

_Mo sheod gan chealg, mo chuid den tsaol mhór_

_Seoithín, seo hó, is mór é an taitneamh_

_Mo stóirín ina leaba ina chodladh gan brón._

_A leanbh mo chléibh, go n-éirí do chodladh leat_

_Séan agus sonas a choíche in do chóir_

_Tá mise le do thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannacht_

_Seoithín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo._

_Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh_

_Mo sheod gan chealg, mo chuid den tsaol mhór_

_Seoithín, seo hó, is mór é an taitneamh_

_Mo stóirín ina leaba ina chodladh gan brón._

_A leanbh mo chléibh, go n-éirí do chodladh leat_

_Séan agus sonas a choíche in do chóir_

_Tá mise le do thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannacht_

_Seoithín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo."_

"Why do you sing?" Cato whispered as Peeta carefully slipped out from underneath his mother, gently lowering her onto the pillows again.

"She sang the same songs to me when I was little," Peeta shrugged. "It soothes her. I'm no pop star, by any means, I know that, but sometimes she just likes to listen to my voice. I'm not a huge fan of doing it but I'd do anything for her."

Peeta lead Cato out of Maria's room and down the stairs into the kitchen. Cato expected Peeta to relax a little now that everything was okay but instead of this, it was like he got twice as fretful. It was like watching one of those cartoons that did a thousand things at once. He instantly went to the sink and started filling it up with water while also filling up a jug and pouring it into the kettle. While the sink filled and the water heated, he rummaged around for some washing up liquid, which he then squeezed into the water in the sink.

"Are you always like this?" Cato frowned. He wanted to help but he didn't know what he could do. It was like Peeta was covering every job himself so that no one would offer to help.

"Like what?" asked Peeta. He went into a small back area and came back with a brush. Before he could start brushing, Cato took it from him and started doing it himself.

"On edge?"

"I'm not on edge." Peeta twisted the taps to switch them off and started washing the few plates and cups that had been sitting on the draining board. "Ms. Santario always leaves the place in shambles. She can look after my mother just fine, she just doesn't seem capable of washing a dish. Or anything else, for that matter."

"Do you usually come home to your mother on Sunday nights?" asked Cato. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be brushing, since the floor was pretty much immaculate, but he kept doing it in case he was missing something.

"No, usually Mondays. I stay in my house over the weekend." Peeta switched the kettle off before it boiled and tried to nab a hot water bottle from the top of one of the cupboards. Cato chuckled as Peeta pushed up on his tiptoes but still couldn't reach. He reached up and grabbed it for him, bumping him out of the way with his hip and filling it himself. "I could have done that."

"Yes, but I can as well. And I did," Cato replied, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at Peeta, who was smoldering a little.

Peeta rolled his eyes and took the bottle from Cato once the top was securely on. They returned to Maria's room. Cato leaned in the doorway, watching Peeta as he slipped the water bottle under Maria's back and fluffed her pillow for her. "I'm sorry this kind of ruined any other plans you had for tonight," Peeta whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Cato assured.

"I know you're set in your ways and you hate things being interrupted . . ."

"Peeta, its okay"-

"And I know I'll probably have to pay for this later, which is fine . . ."

"Peeta"-

"But my mother always comes first"-

"Peeta!" Cato spoke as loud as he dared, reverting to his controlling self momentarily to capture Peeta's attention. "It's alright. I understand."

"Thank you." Peeta never said two words with such sincerity before. When it came to his dedication to his mother, any form of understanding from others was greatly appreciated. He always thought it would be a deal breaker but, even when he was with Katniss, it just seemed to make people want to be with him even more. "And thanks, by the way."

Cato frowned. "For what?"

"For humoring her. I know you don't do relationships, I appreciate that you pretended for her," Peeta explained. He sat beside Maria on the bed and sighed. "Do you want to stay the night? It's quite far to your house and it's late. We have a spare room?"

Cato glanced out the open door, to where the other room was. "I don't know," he replied.

"It would put my mind at ease," Peeta said helpfully. "You did say I should relax."

Cato sighed. "Fine," he said. It didn't sound as indifferent as he had wanted it to as his smile betrayed him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Peeta curled up beside Maria and smiled. "See you tomorrow."

As Cato lay in bed that night, he couldn't stop pondering what Peeta said. Humoring her. Humoring her. Sure, that's what he had been doing. Humoring Maria. So their secret wouldn't be revealed. He was protecting their secret by saying he wouldn't break Peeta's heart and that he'd care for him.

Except . . .

I n the moment, he felt like he hadn't been.

_"Hushaby, Hush"._

_Oh, my child, _

_oh my child asleep without any care _

_On the roof of the house there are bright fairies, _

_playing and drinking under the gentle rays of the spring moon; _

_here they come, to call my child out, _

_wishing to draw him into the the fairy mound. _

_My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well; _

_may good luck and happiness forever be yours; _

_I'm here at your side praying blessings upon you; _

_Hushaby, hush, you're not going with them._

_Oh, my child, _

_oh my child still asleep_

_Oh, my child, _

_oh my child asleep without any care _

_Version below by Joe Heaney:_

_On the roof of the house there are bright fairies, _

_playing and drinking under the gentle rays of the spring moon; _

_here they come, to call my child out, _

_wishing to draw him into the the fairy mound. _

_My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well; _

_may good luck and happiness forever be yours; _

_I'm here at your side praying blessings upon you; _

_Hushaby, hush, you're not going with them._

_Hushaby, hush, my child and my treasure, _

_my guileless jewel, my portion of life; _

_Hushaby, hush, it's such a great pleasure, _

_my child in bed sleeping without any care. _

_My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well; _

_may good luck and happiness forever be yours; _

_I'm here at your side praying blessings upon you_;

_Hushaby, hush, you're not going with them._

**A/N: I'm not going to translate the Irish (except the rhymes above) as when Peeta was speaking it we were looking through the eyes of Cato, who has no idea how to translate Irish.**

**Please R&R! ^_^**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Whoa. Chapter Ten already . . . . Time really is whizzing by ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Warnings: The usual things. And a little escapade in boosting self-esteem and ice cubes. Not necessarily in that order.**

Chapter Ten

Peeta was awake at six o'clock in the morning. Cato could hear him get up and head down the stairs. Why was he awake at such an early hour? Surely his mother wasn't awake, she'd surely want to keep hold of whatever rest she could? Cato guessed that the guest room in Maria's home was directly above the kitchen as he could hear Peeta moving around, the faint hum of the kettle boiling as his background music.

Maria's house was old. The hollow walls and the creaky floorboards reminded him of his Orphanage days. That place had also been old, erected in eighteen something. Cato could still remember what it was like to lie in bed and listen to the carers' footsteps as they passed the boys' dorms on their way to bed. It wasn't a horrible place to grow up but it wasn't entirely grandiose either. It was a radical change, even for one night. Cato was used to the comfort of his own home, it had been years since he had slept anywhere else. He wasn't completely sure why he didn't just head home like he had planned.

Peeta had asked him to stay.

So he stayed.

Cato slipped out of bed and opened the door just in time to catch Peeta appearing at the top of the stairs. He was holding a plate with some toast and a cup of tea. Perched on top of the cup in such a way that it didn't slip, was a box of tablets. "Sorry," he whispered, "did I wake you?"

"No, no, it's alright," Cato responded. He glanced at Maria's door. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, she just doesn't sleep too well. This is the time we wake up every morning," Peeta explained. He noticed for the first time that Cato had taken his shirt off to sleep and hadn't put it back on yet. He blushed and averted his gaze to the floor. "I better, ah, give her her breakfast."

Cato nodded. "Of course." He couldn't contain his smile at how Peeta's face had flushed bright pink. When was this boy going to stop being so vitreous?

On a normal day, Cato wouldn't even be nearly ready to wake up, so he returned to the guest room and climbed back into bed. God, Peeta must be a superhero to be able to get up so early five days a week. Cato made a mental note to allow Peeta an extra-long lie in on Saturday. Couldn't let those pretty blue eyes get weighed down by sleep. Besides, he deserved it.

He wasn't sure how long he slept for but the next thing he knew, he was being woken by the door creaking open. The winter caused it to still be dark out, so it couldn't be that much later. "Cato?" Peeta whispered.

"Hmm?" Cato hummed, sleep threatening to consume him before he found out what Peeta wanted.

"Can I come in?"

"Mmm-hmm."

The guest room was small but was enough to house more than one person. Cato scooted back on the bed and lifted the covers, allowing Peeta to climb in beside him. His skin was cold and Cato habitually enfolded him into his arms to warm him up. Peeta gladly accepted the embrace and laid his head on Cato's chest peacefully.

"Maria okay?" Cato mumbled sleepily.

"Yeah," Peeta whispered. "She fell asleep after taking her warfarin. It usually gives her a headache." He was shaking a little, probably from the cold. Cato had noticed that the house seemed to be very benumbed. Feeling like a bear trying to protect its baby, Cato drew Peeta even closer and drowsily rubbed his arms and back to create heat faster.

"Why is it so cold?" he asked.

"I center the heat to Máthair's room," Peeta explained. "The rest of the house doesn't really need it."

"You're trembling," Cato mumbled.

"It's fine," Peeta replied. He snuggled closer to Cato and closed his eyes. "This is nice," he sighed. Cato had to admit, it was soothing to have Peeta curled up in his arms like this. Not even in a sexual sense. He couldn't even think about considering Peeta in a sexual way right now. Not in his mother's home. He knew that Peeta cared for his mother but he hadn't realized to what extent until now.

He fell back asleep easily, his beautiful submissive cradled in his arms, where Cato knew he could keep him safe.

What felt like moments later but had really in truth been a few hours later, Peeta unintentionally woke Cato up by crawling out of the bed again. "Damn, damn, damn," he was quietly muttering. Cato hadn't a chance to ask what was up as Peeta was already out the door. When he glanced at the clock on the bedside table, it read twelve noon. Had they really been asleep that long? Lucky he didn't have to come into work until four on Mondays.

Cato clamored out of the bed again, this time hopefully with the intention of staying up, and made his way out into the hall. Peeta was downstairs once again, the kettle humming once more. Cato picked his shirt off the floor of the spare room and pulled it on. He went downstairs as quietly as he could and found Peeta slumped in a kitchen chair, dozing off. The kettle was indeed boiling and a toaster sat out. As he stepped further into the room, Cato spotted a metal saucepan placed on top of the hob, a lonesome egg submerged in water inside.

"Hey," Cato poked Peeta's back and immediately the younger boy jumped awake again. Trying to make it look like he hadn't been sleeping, he slapped the kitchen rag he had clutched in his fist onto the tabletop and started scrubbing. "Go back to bed, I can sort this out for her if you want."

"You don't have to," Peeta replied. He stood up and flipped a few switches on the hob. "I do this on a daily basis. It's fine."

"Is there a routine to it? Like, is there specific times you have to do this at?" asked Cato, making himself useful by folding up the kitchen rag Peeta left behind on the table.

"I base her meals around her warfarin routine," Peeta explained. He turned away from Cato and tried to discreetly rub his eye to rub away the sleep. "Which is breakfast, lunch, afternoon and evening."

"Afternoon?"

"Around four o'clock she gets a yoghurt and a banana," Peeta elaborated. He opened the fridge and paused. "Friday was . . . strawberry. No, wait, was it peach? Urgh, I'll figure it out later."

Cato reached over Peeta's shoulder and plucked the bottle of milk out for him. "Does it matter?"

Peeta shook his head. "No, it doesn't," he sighed. He took the bottle gratefully and poured some into a mug for his mother. "I'm just being a tad OCD about it." Cato smiled at that. In Peeta's eyes, anything less than perfect for his mother wasn't acceptable. Cato's eyes followed Peeta as he crossed the room and put the bottle down. Peeta propped his hands against the counter and looked at the floor.

Cato touched Peeta's shoulder and asked, "You okay?"

"Of course," Peeta answered. "I'm just a little tired. Máthair didn't sleep too well so I didn't either. I'm fine, just lacking some sleep. I'm fine, really. I'm fine."

"Do you think you've said fine enough?" Cato joked.

Peeta chewed his lip and smiled. "I am fine," he grinned.

Cato wrapped his hand around Peeta's upper arm and pulled him away from the counter. "Come on, step aside, I'll deal with this," he said.

"I can do it," Peeta insisted.

"Peeta, move aside," said Cato. Peeta reluctantly let Cato tug him away. "Sit down, I've got this."

Peeta didn't. He hung over Cato's shoulder like the grim reaper, making sure he did everything right. He would point stuff out like, _"Not too much milk,"_ and,_ "the egg has to be runny."_ Cato understood that this obviously meant a lot to Peeta and didn't go into Master mode to tell him to sit down. Everything had to be just right for Maria. Okay, and he was also a little afraid of messing it up so Peeta's advice was actually welcome.

Maria appreciated the effort and gratefully accepted the lunch. By the way she glanced at Peeta and sighed, Cato guessed that she would have eaten whatever he had brought up. It was almost like Peeta knew this and that's why he didn't meet his mother's eyes when she sighed at him. He instead busied himself by tidying the art stuff away from the desk in the corner.

Maria gestured Cato over. He hesitantly went over and sat on the seat by her side. "He work too hard," she whispered to him.

"I can see that," Cato replied. "Something tells me you've tried to convince him to slow down a little but he's not . . . all that co-operative."

Maria smiled. "He stubborn."

Boy, did he know it.

"You help him?" Maria asked.

Cato glanced at Peeta, who was oblivious to their conversation. "I'm in the process of it."

Maria nodded. "Tá tú buachaill maith," she said.

Cato didn't know what that meant, but something told him that whatever it was, he had somehow gained the approval of Mrs. Mellark. Approval was something he had never sought out before, and it was something he had never thought he would want. But now that he got it, it actually felt good.

Which wasn't good.

Not good at all.

~T~

"So, what are the plans for tonight?"

Cato hummed thoughtfully, playing with Peeta's golden curls. He already knew what the plan for tonight was, but he sometimes liked to make it seem like he came up with it on the spot. Like he hadn't spent hours trying to conjure up the perfect scene for that night. However, tonight was going to be extremely important. If it went right anyway. "There's something I have in mind," he said. His hand slid down Peeta's arm and mindlessly played with the younger boy's fingers.

"Really?" asked Peeta. He watched Cato playing with his fingers thoughtfully, trying to figure out what he was going to be put through tonight.

The night had been quite laid back so far. Cato made a pasta bake and they had been sitting on the couch watching rubbish television for a couple of hours now. Cato wanted Peeta to be as relaxed as possible, because he knew for a fact what he had planned wasn't going to go down well with the younger blond. He wasn't going to like it at all. It wasn't a guess or a question, Peeta wasn't going to like it. It was a fact.

Cato kissed Peeta's head and mumbled into his hair, "Want to go to my room?"

Peeta smiled. "Alright."

Cato guided Peeta to the room, kind of amused by how oblivious he still was. He obviously thought it was going to be another round of rough sex, maybe with sex toys and bondage. No. What Cato wanted to do today was more of an understanding exercise than anything else. He wanted to get to the bottom of why Peeta said warmth when asked to simply admit he was beautiful. Cato wanted Peeta to understand what he saw.

Cato shut the bedroom door and stopped in front of his wardrobe. He pulled Peeta to a stop too, who had been continuing to the end where he had expected Cato to open it. Peeta was confused but Cato ignored him, turning him around so he was facing the huge mirror that took up the entire wardrobe door.

"What's up?" Peeta frowned. He wasn't even looking at himself now, his eyes were on Cato's reflection instead of his own.

"Tell me what you see," said Cato.

"Uh . . . you?" Peeta answered.

Cato rolled his eyes. "Not me," he said. "What else?"

"Me?" Peeta said hesitantly.

"Elaborate more," Cato insisted.

"What? How . . . ?" Peeta reluctantly looked at himself with an almost bored expression. "Okay, I see a sickly kid who's way out of his depth? Is that what you mean?"

Cato clenched his jaw and looped his arms around Peeta's torso so he could start undoing the buttons of his shirt. Peeta wanted to move and made this clear by trying to step out of the way. Cato held Peeta tighter, a clear sign to stay put. The buttons easily slid out of their holes and Cato pulled it off, revealing the smooth, hard planes of his sub's gorgeous chest and stomach. Peeta drew into himself, pulling his arms up to cover up.

"Arms down now or I'll cuff them behind your back," Cato said. Peeta looked at his feet and didn't listen. "I'm being serious, Peeta."

Peeta tsked and lowered his arms into his sides. "This is stupid," he muttered.

"Keep telling me what you see," Cato said, ignoring the previous comment.

"A half-naked sickly kid who's way out of his depth?" Peeta guessed. He sucked in nervously as Cato smoothed his palm up and down his hairless stomach, his heart frantically beating inside his chest.

"You're very bad at this," Cato commented. He skimmed his lips along the slope of Peeta's shoulder, pleased by the way it made the smaller boy shudder. "Surely as an artist you're supposed to be observant? Able to recognize amazing works of art and all that?"

"Sure," Peeta replied. "For paintings." Cato sighed. God, so stubborn. He flicked the button out of Peeta's jeans and slid the zipper down. "Come on, don't do this."

"Do you want to be gagged too?" asked Cato.

Peeta rolled his eyes and but shut his mouth. When Cato hooked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans and underwear, teasingly pulling it down over his hip and stopping to admire his reflection, Peeta looked off to the side in mini protest. Cato predicted this, however, and grabbed his sub's chin, turning it back in the direction of the mirror and forcing him to look at himself.

"What is it you don't like about yourself?" he asked.

"I don't know. Just everything," Peeta sheepishly answered.

Cato pushed Peeta's jeans down the rest of the way and ordered him to step out of them. "That's not an acceptable answer. Tell me. What is it you don't like?" he persisted in asking.

Peeta shook his head.

Cato sighed and opened the wardrobe. "Go on." Peeta, thinking it was all over, exhaled in relief and climbed inside to reach the playroom at the back. He slipped through the door which was already open in waiting. Cato followed close after him.

It took Peeta a moment to realize what was different. He knew something was different, he just didn't know what. But when he looked up to the ceiling and realized what it was, his heart dropped into his stomach. "Oh no. No, no, no. No fucking way." He spun on his heel and immediately bumped into Cato.

"I told you there was a mirror up there," Cato said smugly.

"You can't make me," Peeta said indignantly, folding his arms like a petulant child. "I'll say warmth."

"I'd like to think you wouldn't, since you haven't even tried it yet."

"It's one of my limits!" Peeta announced.

Cato laughed. "You're new to this, you don't know what your limits are yet," he chuckled. "You haven't even tried it." He took Peeta's hand and had to practically drag him over to the bed. Peeta dug his heels in and protested the entire time. "Will you stop being so difficult?"

"You can't make me do anything I don't want to!" said Peeta. "And I don't want to do this. I'll close my eyes the entire time. What are you going to do about that? Glue my eyes open like in the Clockwork Orange?!"

Cato rolled his eyes at how dramatic Peeta was being. "Look up, Peeta," he said.

Peeta stared at him long and hard. "No," he eventually said.

"Look up."

"No."

"Do as I say."

"No!"

Cato pulled Peeta towards him and forced his head up so he was staring at the mirrored ceiling. "There's nothing wrong with you. The sooner you see that, the easier this will be. You act like you're ugly, or deformed in some way. I can't understand it. You are beautiful. Inside and out. It's about time you have some confidence in yourself."

Peeta slapped Cato's hands and stepped back when he let go. "I'll do whatever you want to do here but you can't stop me from closing my eyes."

Cato rolled his eyes and sighed. He looked into Peeta's eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. Fed up, he dragged the younger boy towards him by his shoulders and smashed their lips together. He took immediate control, forcing Peeta to open his mouth so he could explore deeper. Peeta's mouth was so warm and moist, his tongue shy but playful. Cato fisted Peeta's hair in his hand, holding the boy's head in place while their tongues twisted and teased each other. Peeta's hands were cupping Cato's face and it took him to actually feel the soft slope of the younger boy's arm to actually realize this. It had just felt so natural.

"Bed. Now," Cato growled against Peeta's lips before letting the younger boy go.

"How do you want me, sir?" Peeta panted, wiping the saliva from his swollen lips with the back of his hand.

Cato wrapped an arm around his sub's slim waist, tugging his body up against his own. "I want you on your back," he purred into Peeta's ear. He nipped his lobe and hooked a thumb into the boy's underwear. "Naked." He teasingly pulled the underwear down one side over the delectable curve of Peeta's plump ass cheek. "And spread eagle before me." He punctuated the order by slapping the exposed butt cheek and roughly squeezing it. Peeta shuddered and bit his lip coyly. Damn him for being so damn sexy. "Understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Peeta said breathlessly.

"Get to it then." Cato walked away from Peeta and went to his chest of drawers. He pulled open the third one down and retrieved some restraints from it. When he turned back around, Peeta had done exactly what he was told, like the obedient little submissive he was.

Except one hitch.

He'd closed his eyes.

"I'm very disappointed in you," Cato said. He took one of Peeta's small wrists and strapped it to the headboard of the bed, repeating the same thing with the other one on the other side. Peeta's breathing sped up and he squeezed his eyes tighter. "I wanted you to keep your eyes open but you're purposely being disobedient."

Cato wrapped his fingers around his sub's ankle and tugged roughly so that it was closer to the bottom board at the end of the bed. Peeta yelped in surprise when his whole body jerked down with the action, so he was now lying directly parallel to the mirror. Cato proceeded to strap both ankles on either end of the bottom board so that Peeta's legs were spread wide for him.

Cato tried not to linger too much on the sight before him as he was supposed to be angry. Peeta was disobeying him, he had to do something about it.

"And you know what happens to naughty boys who are disobedient, don't you?" he demanded with authority.

"They're . . . they're punished?" Peeta whispered. "Sir?"

"Correct."

Cato left the room.

He made a show out of shutting the door, so Peeta was aware that he'd left him. He pushed out of the wardrobe and headed downstairs to his kitchen. What Cato hoped this would accomplish was that Peeta would have time to think over how stubborn and ridiculous he was being or, if that failed, get fed up and open his eyes. Either way, before the night was up, Peeta was going to look at himself in the damn mirror while in pleasure. He _had_ to see what Cato saw. He had to understand it.

Cato opened the freezer and pulled out his ice tray. He hadn't used it in a while, so it was full and ready for use. Excellent.

Cato waited half an hour before returning to Peeta. He was disappointed when he returned to see that Peeta still had his eyes closed. His face was scrunched up though, obviously from the strain of having to do so for so long without feeling tired in the slightest.

"You didn't answer my question from before," said Cato. Peeta jumped in surprise, not having heard his master come back into the room.

"Question, sir?" he asked.

"What is it you don't like about yourself?" While he asked this, Cato popped an ice cube out of its holder.

"I told you, sir. I . . . I don't really know," Peeta insisted.

"Surely you know, since you insist upon your imperfection so adamantly," Cato answered.

"I really don't. Just, er, everything!"

Cato sighed. "Not a valid answer," he replied. With that, he placed an ice cube on Peeta's stomach. Peeta gasped in shock and his stomach muscles jumped, trying to get the cold off his skin immediately. "Try again."

"What do you mean not a valid answer?! An answer's an answer!" Peeta exclaimed.

"Not this time." Cato placed a second ice cube beside the first. Peeta groaned and he shuddered, not liking the feeling at all. "I want details."

"Fine! I'm too damn pale! I look like I've always got the damn measles!" shouted Peeta. Cato smirked and popped out a third ice cube. When he placed it on his lover's torso, Peeta yelled, "What do you want from me that was detailed!"

Cato watched with avid interest at how the first cube was already melting on Peeta's hot body. "I'm going to keep putting ice cubes on your body until you give me a characteristic that I deem a valid answer," he explained. "You do _not_ look like you have the measles, by the way. Your complexion is a gift, one that not everyone can pull off. You should bask in your gorgeous pale skin, not condemn it."

Peeta groaned. "Oh God, I'm never getting freed," he said.

"Don't over exaggerate; you don't know. Come on, tell me something else." Cato was already pushing the fourth ice cube out. He had a hunch that he was going to be needing it.

"I don't know, sir. Uh . . . I'm short." Peeta grinned. He obviously believed he was right on that one. When the fourth cube joined its melting friends, he practically screamed in frustration. "What now?! You like being with dwarves?!"

"I love your height. You're just the perfect size to be swept off your feet," Cato teased.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Peeta muttered. Cato dropped a fifth on. Peeta gasped and jumped in shock. "I didn't say anything yet!"

"Stop swearing," Cato said firmly. God, he really wanted to ravish Peeta right now. The cubes were melting, forming sizzling puddles on the younger boy's abdomen. Goose pimples had broken out across his skin and sweat was beading on his forehead. He kept licking his lips too. The way his cute pink tongue peaked out from between his lips and smoothed over the plump curve of the bottom before accenting the top . . . Damn tease.

"My eyes are too close together!"

"No, they're not." Sixth.

"I really need a haircut but I hate hairdressers and am too lazy to do it!"

"I like hair I can tug on." Seventh.

"I don't have a six pack like you! Well, I say like you, more like an eight pack like you."

A chuckle. "Your body is perfect just the way it is." Eighth.

"Knobby knees!"

"Which tremble oh so beautifully when you're nervous." Ninth.

"My thighs are too fleshy!"

"Thighs are supposed to have a bit of flesh on them, what am I supposed to dig my fingernails into when I'm pounding your ass?" Tenth and eleventh. Placed on both thighs just to make a point.

"My penis is too small!"

Cato paused. "Now who the hell told you that?" he demanded.

"No one, I just know," Peeta responded.

"Invalid." Twelve.

"Jesus sir, stop please!"

Cato grinned. "I haven't gotten one decent answer from you yet," he pointed out. He poked his finger into a dent in one of the melting cubes, dragging it up Peeta's chest and using it to encircle one of his nipples in a cold, wet trail. Peeta groaned, the straps clattering against the metal headboard as he tugged hard in a desperate attempt to be freed. Cato made sure to not allow the cold to touch the nipple itself, but to tease the pink bud into hardening on its own.

"I'm trying, sir!" Peeta keened desperately.

"I know you are, but you're just not getting it," Cato sighed.

Peeta squirmed restlessly, sucking in in shock as some of the ice that had melted on his thighs dripped into his entrance. "Getting what, sir?" he asked breathlessly.

"That there is no answer to the question," said Cato. He had noticed where some of the melted ice had went and smirked at how Peeta was failing beautifully at hiding his reaction to it. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

"In your opinion, sir," answered Peeta.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "You're saying I'm wrong?"

"No! Of course not."

"So you're admitting that I'm right and you're beautiful?"

"No."

"Well, you better make up your mind," Cato sighed. He allowed the ice to pass over the nipple that was begging to be satisfied. Peeta's eyes fluttered and he moaned in appreciation. "Or, even better, I'll make it up for you."

Cato got onto the bed and sat in the space between Peeta's legs. He had a brilliant angle of his submissive's body from this position. Especially his seeping cock, which was standing to attention just waiting to be stroked. This was a punishment, however, and Peeta had to learn his lesson before he got any form of reward what-so-ever.

"How warm do you think your entrance is right now, my pet?" Cato asked, feigning curiosity. He dragged his pointer finger down along Peeta's ball sac before passing his thumb over his hole, which was coated in some of the melted ice.

"I-I-I wouldn't know," Peeta stammered.

Cato grinned to himself. "Okay then, how long do you think it would take to melt an ice cube?"

"Erm . . . I don't know, sir."

"Well, let's kill two birds with one stone and find out!" Cato declared. He popped the final ice cube out of the tray. He placed a fleeting kiss against his sub's wet hole and ever so carefully pushed the ice cube up inside. Not too far up, but enough for it to be felt.

Peeta's gasp was so loud, anyone outside of the situation would decipher it as a painful one. His body bowed right off the bed, his toes curling into the bed. The straps stopped him bending too far, however his body continued to shudder and jerk in pleasure regardless. Cato took pleasure in simply watching, taking in every inch of his sub's gorgeous writhing body.

"Feel good?" he purred, absentmindedly stroking one of Peeta's shins while he watched him writhe.

"O-O-Oh g-god, yes," Peeta stuttered.

The cube was already melting, the cold seeping out of the smaller blond's hot entrance and soaking the tender skin of the surrounding area. Cato was fascinated by it, his cock twitching in his trousers. He knew what it wanted. It wanted to feel the hot and the cold clenched around it. Peeta didn't deserve sex, though, not while his eyes remained closed. He was being punished. Cato almost felt like _he_ was the one being punished.

Cato shrugged his pants and underwear off, crawling over Peeta's hard, wet body like a predator and kissing his gorgeous lips. Peeta moaned, the straps rattling again as he tried to touch his master. "Want to make your master happy?" asked Cato.

"Always, sir," Peeta replied.

Cato couldn't help the smile that poisoned his face at that. "May I borrow that angelic mouth of yours?" he asked sweetly.

Peeta's eyes fluttered, his head lifting off the bed as his torso bowed again in pleasure. Cato guessed the melted remains of the ice cube was slipping into some particularly pleasurable areas. Peeta nodded. "Of course, sir," he groaned.

As soon as he slipped his cock between Peeta's shapely pink lips, Cato's eyes instinctively shut and his hands pushed into his sub's gorgeous golden locks. The moist caverns caressed the sensitive skin of Cato's dick. Peeta surprised him by actually being focused enough to suck and, once this happened, Cato couldn't control how he behaved. Feeling the satin like skin of the inside of Peeta's mouth rubbing against his manhood was too delectable a feeling that he grew greedy and had to have it faster.

Cato guided Peeta's head so his mouth could match his own uneven thrusts. Peeta let the occasional moan slip, the vibrations sending deep shudders through Cato's being. Cato was impressed by how courageous Peeta was being, as the smaller boy also had a go at using his tongue more, swirling the hot, wet muscle around Cato's cock the way one might lick icing off a cupcake. Then again, Peeta had been making cupcakes ever since he was little . . .

The image of Peeta licking the icing off a cupcake came into Cato's head and it was enough to make him cum in his lover's mouth. Shit. He hadn't had time to pull out.

"Peeta, baby, are you okay?" Cato asked in worry, pulling himself out and touching Peeta's face in concern.

Peeta's adam's apple bobbed a few times before he answered. "Fine," he said breathlessly. He licked his lips unsurely and frowned. "Is there any of it on my face?"

Cato was gob smacked. "Did you just . . . swallow it all?"

"Yeah," Peeta answered. His eyes flew open. "I was supposed to, right?"

"Well, I was supposed to pull out really . . ." Cato explained sheepishly, scratching his head.

"It was okay, really," insisted Peeta.

Cato grinned. He reached out and touched Peeta's eyelid with his thumb. "Can't you just look up now?" he asked.

Peeta pulled a face and lowered his eyes to Cato's middle. "No! Definitely not. I'm sweaty and wet and very probably have cum on my face like a common whore!"

Cato sighed. He shook his head and glanced behind himself at his submissive's swollen cock. He crawled his hand down Peeta's wet stomach, detouring around his aching arousal, and teasingly squeezed one of his supposedly 'fleshly' thighs. "Do you think the cube's melted?" he asked.

"I think so," Peeta answered, shifting uncomfortably on the spot.

"Let me check." Cato pushed his pointer finger into Peeta's hole, amused by the way Peeta's hips jerked in response. Peeta bit his lip and winced, his breathing heavy as he felt Cato's finger feel around inside of him. Cato explored Peeta's moist warmth, making sure to spread the cold around as much as he could.

Peeta knees bunched up in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold. He wanted Cato inside him desperately and ground himself down on the older man's finger. His hips jumped in a careless search of friction or relief. He was experiencing conflicting feelings. He was cold; hot; wet; pitifully horny; and desperately wanting release.

"Enjoying yourself?" Cato teased.

"Please fuck me, sir," Peeta begged. "I'll do anything just fuck me; fuck me hard!"

Cato quirked an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Anything!" Peeta insisted. He choked out a groan as he ground down harder on Cato's appendage, wishing his Master would stop teasing him and just ride him like a merry-go-round like he knew he wanted to.

"I will on one condition."

"Go on then!"

"Open your eyes and look at the mirror."

Rage made Peeta's blood boil and he groaned in frustration. "Damn you, sir!" he snapped angrily.

Cato smirked. "I could just leave you here for a while," he mused. He removed his finger completely so Peeta had nothing to grind himself against. Peeta whimpered and squirmed in dissatisfaction. "See how long it takes for you to completely descend into madness. Ecstasy induced madness, anyhow. It could be quite an interesting experiment . . ."

"You can't sir," Peeta begged. "Just . . . just . . . argh! Fine! I'll open my eyes for five seconds."

Cato considered it. "Not good enough."

"Half a minute!"

Cato sighed. He placed his hands by either side of Peeta head and sat with his knees on either side of his waist. "You will keep your eyes open the entire time and you will look at yourself in the mirror while I fuck you," he said firmly. "If you close your eyes even once, I will pull out and leave you here for the rest of the night."

Peeta's swallowed hard. "I couldn't . . ."

"Yes, you can. And you will be beautiful," Cato replied.

There was a pause. A moment later, Peeta's eyes fluttered open. They trained themselves nervously on Cato's face. "I'm not capable of this," he said, pleading with his master to understand. "I avoid this sort of thing at all time. I just . . . I don't . . . I hate looking at myself!"

Cato slowly leaned forward and captured Peeta's lips with his own. The kiss was annunciated by the soft rattle of the straps on the headboard. "Just give it a chance," Cato murmured against Peeta's mouth, taking a gentle hold of the back of the smaller boy's neck and laying his head back on the bed. "I won't push in until you're ready."

Peeta inhaled deeply and lifted his eyes to the ceiling mirror. Instantly, his breathing picked up in panic. Cato touched his face and shushed him. Peeta's eyebrows scrunched together. "I can't see what you see," he muttered. "I just can't."

Cato rolled his eyes and nestled his head into his sub's neck, so it wasn't in the way. Peeta apprehensively but obediently kept his eyes on the mirror, on himself, about to be fucked. Cato lined himself up with Peeta's entrance and pushed deep into him. "Ohhhhh," Peeta keened, the urge to close his eyes again strong. "Ohhhh, a little harder, please sir!"

"Patience is a virtue my little pet," Cato replied. He thursted into his gorgeous sub, plunging a little harder and a little deeper each time. Peeta moaned and pushed his hips up, his arms aching and cramping up due to his state of bondage. There were occasions when Peeta's eyes closed, but when that happened Cato immediately halted and Peeta had to force himself to open up again.

Cato slid his hands down Peeta's chest, his thumbs meeting at the bottom of the younger boy's abdomen. He pushed up into the younger boy, so hard that Peeta's body pushed upwards with the movement. Peeta threw his head back into the pillow, his body creating a perfect arch as he bowed upwards into Cato. Cato sped up, gripping Peeta's thighs and holding them spreading them even further apart so he had better access to his moist hole.

"I told you my thighs were . . . fleshy . . ." Peeta panted, his chest heaving heavily. "Even when you've strapped my legs . . . apart . . . you h-have to . . . spread 'em."

Cato laughed. "What do you want? A thigh gap? Because that's the only way I would be able to fuck you this deep"-he annunciated his point with an extra hard thrust. Peeta groaned in appreciation-"without spreading your thighs apart myself. And just for the record, thigh gaps don't exist naturally."

The bottom board began to shake as Peeta jerked his ankles in frustration. "I don't expect to have a thigh gap!" he exclaimed. "I'm not a complete moron! Just a bit slimmer than what they are now." His eyes danced around the mirror uncomfortably, so he wasn't forced to linger on his reflection for too long.

"Okay, now you're sounding like white noise," Cato groaned, winding his hand around Peeta's cock and rubbing the full length of it. "It's all just blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."

"Eh, ehargh, ngh," Peeta gasped, sounding as if he were talking gibberish.

"Speaking Irish again, huh?" Cato grunted.

"Nah-uh," Peeta moaned. "J-J-Just a load of c-crap."

"Fair enough." Cato smirked. His hands crawled up from Peeta's thighs and squeezed his ass, spreading his cheeks farther apart as he drove into him for the final stretch.

"Cato," Peeta whimpered, "let me touch you."

Cato paused. The request threw him off. He never let any of his sub's touch him during sex, it was like a personal rule. It shouldn't even be a question. Why was he pausing? Cato shook himself out of it and resumed his previous actions. "Hush up Peeta, that's an order," he muttered, putting all he could into the last few seconds.

"But I just wanted to"-Cato cut off any other response by gripping Peeta's throat (not enough to choke him) and pushing him back into the pillows.

"Stop. It."

Peeta cried out as he came all over himself. Cato's vigor sped up and he pounded harder for his last moments, before filling Peeta's hole with his essence. He leaned over Peeta and blocked his view of himself in the mirror. The younger boy held Cato's gaze. "Cato, I didn't . . . I don't . . . why won't you let me . . . ?"

"Peeta, give it up," said Cato firmly. "If I tell you no, I mean _no._ Understand?"

Peeta narrowed his eyes, chest heaving and breath heavy. "Fine."

Better not question what Cato said. That had become Peeta's policy anyway.

Cato stood up on shaky legs and fetched a cloth to wipe the mess of melted ice and cum off of Peeta's torso. Peeta watched him carefully, confused by Cato's sternness on the matter of touching him. He didn't push the point further because he knew how defensive Cato could get, but the question lingered in the air between them for a long time after.

Touching led to intimacy, intimacy led to feelings. Cato knew he could not allow himself to develop feelings of any form for Peeta. He was already battling confusing emotions towards the younger boy and, if he became any more intimate than they already were then it could pose uncomfortable questions. He focused himself on the task of cleaning Peeta's skin, even though he could feel his sub's mystifying baby blues burning into his skin. Cato knew what he was thinking. He wasn't going to tell Peeta that he didn't want to have any feelings for him because he feared it would cause Peeta to leave, contract or no contract. And Cato knew that if Peeta left, he would probably never find someone as beautiful and perfect as him ever again.

"Cato, I have to ask a favour," Peeta eventually said.

Cato looked at Peeta in surprise. A favour? _Him?_ "Sure. What is it?" he asked.

Peeta chewed on his lip for a moment, unable to hide the blush that poisoned his cheeks. His strapped hands clenched into fists and he sighed. "When I was a kid, I did an Irish Dancing Class in the local community center not far from where my mother lives. I only did it because my brothers wouldn't, and my mother really wanted us to keep in touch with our heritage since we were learning how to speak English instead of her native language.

"Anyway, long before we met-like six months before or something like that. The beginning of the year anyway-the center announced they were having this feis. A feis is an Irish Dancing contest, by the way. Máthair got so excited about it and I entered, just to keep her happy, you know? But then she got ill. She can't get out of bed . . . So, I was wondering if you'd, erm, you know, come along and record it for her. So she can at least see it."

Cato thought about it. He had never been to something so public with a sub before. It could arouse questions. But this was Peeta. The boy who'd do anything to make his mother happy. "Of course I'll come. When is it?"

The news alone that Cato would come was like a weight off Peeta's shoulders. He seemed so much more relaxed now that he knew that someone would be there to record the dance for his mother. "Next Sunday. Will it be alright if we miss some of our, um, scene time?"

"Don't worry about it, we'll make it up," said Cato.

Peeta nodded. "Okay," he said. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much it means to me."

Cato laughed. "I think I do," he smiled. He unstrapped Peeta's arms from the bedposts, allowing him to do his ankles himself. Peeta rolled his shoulders, relieved to be freed from the confines of the hellish straps, and stretched his arm above his head. Cato collected the straps up and went to the drawers to put them back.

"There's one more thing," Peeta said while Cato's back was turned.

"Oh?" asked Cato, opening the drawer and dumping the straps in. "What's that?"

"Katniss will be there too."

Cato slammed the drawer shut.

What?

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your supportive feedback. Not just on this story but all of them! You're all so kind and amazing! ^_^**


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